


The Road to Hell

by JacksRightHand



Category: Borderlands (Video Games)
Genre: Axton POV, Badass Rhys, Bisexual Male Character, Canon-Typical Violence, Don't get comfortable, Emotional Manipulation, F/M, Gay Sex, Imprisonment, M/M, Mildly Dubious Consent, Nisha/Axton FWB, Rhaxton One-Sided, bisexual (m/f) sex, bisexual (m/m) sex, everyone is terrible, poor axton
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-09
Updated: 2020-11-04
Packaged: 2021-03-06 06:28:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 14
Words: 74,577
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25808863
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JacksRightHand/pseuds/JacksRightHand
Summary: Handsome Jack had been waging a war on the bandits of Pandora, carving a path for peace and prosperity on the desolate rock, until suddenly, one day, he’s not. Hyperion’s presence is a constant on the planet, but the crushingly overwhelming rule of its president has very nearly disappeared, leaving the locals feeling uneasy.Some time after, a fresh recruit arrives on Helios, determined to discover the reasons behind Jack’s withdrawal. His initial plans struggle to take shape, until he makes a surprising friend in the form of a dedicated Hyperion executive, who leads him down a path that does not simply end with Handsome Jack’s secrets, and will ultimately reveal the true hero of Pandora.
Relationships: Axton & Nisha (Borderlands), Axton/Rhys (Borderlands), Handsome Jack/Rhys (Borderlands)
Comments: 75
Kudos: 89





	1. Welcome to Helios

**Author's Note:**

> **WARNING:**  
>  All of my stories are dark in nature, and may include (but are not limited to) the following triggers: emotional abuse, physical abuse, manipulation, torture, death, imprisonment. There are also sexual interactions between **m/m** and **m/f** characters.
> 
> I will not add trigger warnings at the start of chapters in order to prevent spoilers.  
>  **If these are any of your triggers, or if you are under 18 years old, please do not read this story.**

A number of years back, something appeared in the skies over Pandora. As construction went on, the citizens of the borderlands planet could but sit back and watch the space station take shape, ever wary of the strangely ominous silhouette backlit by the scarred, glowing form of Elpis far above. Hyperion already had a minor presence surface-side, but following the completion of its shiny, state of the art headquarters, their power flourished. The corporation clawed its way across the chaotic landscape, rooting deep to establish itself as the _true_ reigning power. Forget Dahl and Atlas; Hyperion was here to _stay._

And soon after, the new face of Hyperion emerged. So began the time of Handsome Jack: hero, saviour of Pandora, and _your best friend!_ He cut a decidedly bloodstained path of dominance, a violent takeover that did not distinguish between mindless bandits and hard-working citizens. For after all — he was not there to save the _people_ of Pandora. They were the ones standing in the way of the civilized, bright future that Jack intended to bestow upon the barren wasteland.

But after only a couple years, things seemed to change. The taunting video feeds and radio broadcasts all but stopped. The propagandic billboards were left to decay and fall apart. It was almost as if Handsome Jack had died, or more likely, had become _bored_ of his toys, distracted by other interests. Construction of the city of Opportunity continued, and the Hyperion factories quietly churned with production, but the fear-inducing presence that was _Handsome Jack_ began to shift from inspiring constant dread to simply being a faint memory of a supposed boogeyman. And while the Crimson Raiders — the local militia and former Atlas army now under the command of the vault hunter Roland — still decried the actions of Hyperion, the rest of the planet was left to ponder the mystery of Handsome Jack’s sudden disappearance.

Pandora returned to its quietly turbulent way of life. The Warrior continued to sleep, undisturbed, beneath the planet’s crust. And Hyperion yet dominated amongst the mega-corporations of the galaxy.

But what the hell happened to Jack?

* * *

Helios was exactly what he had expected: an absolute fortress of opulence and grandiosity that catered to the specific whims of its conniving employees, encouraging brutal business tactics while somehow maintaining its lead in the galactic corporate race. There was no doubt as to why Hyperion was on top; with everyone out to prove themselves to the point they were fully willing to backstab their own best friend (almost always literally), it led to some surprisingly effective results.

The space station itself was a marvel to behold. Even after a full week of walking its halls, it was hard not to be impressed by the sheer magnitude of it all. Meticulously kept (thanks to the fleets of cleaning bots), and extravagant even at its lowest levels, it was all very easy to admire. The shiny facade almost managed to conceal the quiet hostility and desperation of the people living and working there.

Almost.

“Out of the way, boot.”

With muted disinterest, he gazed toward the woman addressing him — a short, uptight woman in a pencil skirt. She led a small pack of mid-level executives, all dressed to the nines in very _Hyperion_ clothing, complete with hexagonal texturing and yellow highlights. Beneath his helmet he allowed his lip to curl in a minor snarl before he pointedly stepped out of the woman’s way. She rewarded him with a self-satisfied grin, flicking a hand through the air.

“Well, at least he knows his place.”

This earned a round of laughter from her associates as they walked past, to which he merely rolled his eyes. He had previous experience with a large, morally bankrupt corporation (albeit within a vastly different department), but Hyperion was a beast of its own. Upon arrival, he had intended to keep his head low, stay in line, bide his time — he had plans for his place in Hyperion, and that started with subtlety. But the longer he remained amidst the denizens of Helios, the more difficult he realized that would be. It was only by his own indifference that his trigger finger hadn’t been tempted to slide into place. _Yet._

With a huff, he continued on his route. It was fairly simple, covering only a few floors that took him past the separate Accounting and Requisitions departments. It made sense that the new guy would be handed such a tame circuit, but also served to be painfully boring. The few incidents he had broken up so far were minor scuffles between employees that didn’t even know how to make a proper fist, and thus resorted to finger guns. Because, _what?_ The look one of the dweebish accountants had given him when he hadn’t reacted to an invisible shotgun blast to the chest would definitely stay with him for a while.

It also happened that, with Hyperion being fairly tech based, there was a clear bias between human officers and automated security, leaving his position decidedly low on the pecking order. His orders were to monitor, report in, and _support_ any loader bots that were deployed to handle skirmishes. Which, thankfully, hadn’t happened yet, as he wasn’t sure he could swallow his pride to step out of the way of a damn machine. Not with the years of training and experience under his belt. But, again — it was a personal pride he was forced to swallow for now.

Before long, his path brought him back to his own department. He gave a silent nod to the quartermaster as he passed along the munitions resupply, and paused briefly to run his eyes along an extensive map of Helios projected on the wall outside of the administrative offices. It was a fresh habit of his, to quietly commit bits of the vast blueprint to memory at every pass. The process was slow, but today it only seemed to serve as an ill-timed distraction. It was while he was staring at the maintenance and storage levels that there arrived a flicker in his peripherals.

“Oh, good. Perfect timing.”

He turned to acknowledge his supervisor, a man named Arley Cade, who had stepped out of an office doorway nearby. Cade had been with Hyperion for years, even before Handsome Jack took charge, which was a feat that was impressive in itself. He headed the entire department, keeping his subordinates in line with a gruff, no-nonsense attitude, while quietly ridiculing the bullshit they occasionally spied in other sectors. There was no condescension, and no patronizing — unless it was damn well deserved.

He liked Cade _immensely._

“Morning, sir.”

“Yeah, yeah. Come with me.”

He shot a bitter look at the map to his right, but did not ask questions, quick to trail after Cade who had already started on his way. While following his supervisor through the halls, he kept his head on a swivel, quietly taking note of the environment as they wandered. Most of the other employees either gave them cold, bored glances, or ignored them completely, which suited him fine.

_Head down. Blend in._

But as their path took them into the Hub of Heroism, he realized very quickly where they were headed. He watched Cade pass his ECHO device over the elevator panel, swallowing hard in anticipation of discomfort.

It was just another part of Helios to which he was having difficulty adjusting — the dang elevators. There was some odd combination of the “vertical” movement within an environment of simulated gravity that sent his stomach flip-flopping every damn time. As he stepped into the small space, silently urging his body to cooperate, he did what he could to distract himself, pretending like it might help. Cade simply settled into place at his side, distracted by the datapad in his hands.

“Where to, sir?” he hummed, swallowing against the distressing sensation in his gut.

Cade spared him a brief glance. “Surprise inspection, looks like. All the departments have been called in. And since you’re on duty, looks like it’s your lucky day.”

He thanked the cover of his helmet for hiding his wince. _So much for staying under the radar_. Although, if inspection was anything like it had been at his last position, he shouldn’t be terribly concerned. He had the professionalism of his role down pat; his gear was carefully tended to and he adeptly handled his weapons. In their training sessions, he had easily proven himself, beating out some of the more seasoned officers in hand to hand and armed combat alike. So really, this should be a breeze.

But this was Helios, and there was always a catch.

A wave of nausea passed through him and his eyes snapped down to the SMG in his hands, tracing the sharp lines of its design in an attempt to draw his mind away from dizziness. It did not help. Thankfully, the ride was a short one.

As the elevator doors drew open, however, the anxiety gripping him did not fade in the slightest. His attention fell on the small crowd awaiting them, and he immediately noticed the man standing at the centre of it all.

Handsome Jack himself. Because, you know, _of-friggin’-course._

He drew a sharp intake of breath upon recognizing Jack, scanning over his familiar frame in disbelief. Here it was, and only one week in. He had half expected for this moment to never arrive; Jack notoriously preferred any personal security detail to come in the form of a pair of loader bots. That was when he bothered with security at all, as opposed to relying on his legendary aim and favoured pistol that was forever holstered on his thigh. So upon seeing him for the first time in the flesh, he automatically straightened, holding his chin high as he lingered behind Cade.

“Take your helmet off.”

He blanched, glancing to his superior. “Sir?”

“Just trust me.”

Ignoring the unease gripping his chest, he holstered his SMG long enough to remove the helmet. He passed it over his digistruct device, allowing it to dissolve miraculously into bits of code fragment before he again took up his weapon. And as they moved to join the group, he was very tempted to double check that his appearance was in order, but Handsome Jack was immediately turning his attention onto them. He gazed toward Cade with an already tight sneer.

“About time, Cade,” he growled, rolling his eyes. “You’re up. Better be good news, because these other jack-offs really know how to ruin my day.”

Okay. So Handsome Jack was fire and swagger and _exactly_ what he had envisioned. Good to know.

“Thank you for your patience, sir. I’m afraid I only received the ping a few minutes ago.”

Handsome Jack dismissively waved his hand. “Don’t care. Updates. _Now.”_

Cade took it all in stride, nodding sharply before handing an ECHO to Jack. “As you can see, there are no alarming reports. All recent incidents have been a result of fairly typical inter departmental skirmishes, and were dealt with accordingly.”

Handsome Jack’s demeanour lightened, but only barely. He hummed a response, scanning the device. “Fine. That’s fine.”

Doing his best to feign disinterest, he turned his head away from the scene to survey the nearby crowd of people. But quietly, he kept watch of Jack in his periphery, silently observing as he listened to Cade’s reports. Unlike his exchanges with the other executives in the room, Jack almost seemed to care about what Cade passed to him, presumably taking a special interest in the security aspect.

Hopefully not _too_ much interest, or his reason for being here would be for naught. But really, as long as it didn’t end with him being loaded into a moonshot, he wasn’t terribly worried about his chances.

“Alright! Looks good!” Handsome Jack announced, tossing the ECHO back to Cade. “Good work. Let me know if anything changes.”

“Will do, sir.”

“Alright. What’s next, Meg? Meg? Damn it, where’d she go now _…useless—”_

He flinched at Jack’s hesitation, turning his head to see the man had paused upon moving past Cade and was looking straight at _him._ Swallowing hard, he straightened under the sudden scrutiny. Jack’s expression was unreadable as he passed over his face before dropping his eyes to take him in — _all_ of him. For the full duration of the examination, he did his absolute best to stay still, staring straight ahead.

_Blend in…_

“Well,” Handsome Jack smirked, quirking an eyebrow his way. “Aren’t you a tight little thing.”

 _Little?_ He wasn’t _little_. Shorter than Jack, maybe, but not _little_ in any other sense of the word.

“Sir,” he grunted a response, avoiding eye contact. Jack chuckled as he stepped past.

“Hope to see more of _you,_ cupcake.”

Caught between the sudden realization of why Cade had ordered him to remove his helmet and _uh, what?,_ he found himself stiffening in shock. And as much as the opportunity of seeing Jack again would benefit his plans, he did not share the sentiment. So he did nothing in response, simply waiting for Jack and his entourage to take their leave. Cade remained at his side, but was absorbed in his ECHO, as if what had happened was fairly commonplace.

“Alright, kid. Good job. Why don’t you take lunch?”

He angled his head, gazing at Cade in surprise. “It’s ten-thirty, sir.”

Cade barely looked up. “Jack liked you. That doesn’t happen often. Take a _long_ lunch.”

Before he could argue, Cade was already moving away. He sent a somewhat annoyed glance in the direction of his retreating supervisor, but quickly shook it off. It would be best to ignore the minor manipulation — as that was likely commonplace for Hyperion employees. And if it resulted in gaining a modicum of trust in being closer to Handsome Jack, all the better.

With a sigh, he turned, considering the nearby elevator with a loathsome stare. He decided instead to wander in search for stairs, opting not to set his stomach churning right before a potential brunch.

* * *

There weren’t any stairs. At least, none that he could find, which brought into question Helios’ safety standards, but he quickly dismissed the thought for how utterly ridiculous it was. So rather than take the lift straight back down to the Hub, he spent his time wandering sectors he had yet to visit, tracing a path in his mind that lined up with the map he had studied. But the station was _enormous,_ making the task almost seem pointless.

By the time he eventually managed to wander into the Hub, he was quick to discard the effort in search of food. The area seemed to be almost deserted as he headed toward the food court, which was certainly not something he considered to be a problem.

He trailed after the scent of fresh food, suddenly unable to deny a new ripple in his stomach. Managing at last to find a quiet cafe, his eyes turned to scan the overhead menu, but as he stood there in silence, the oddity of his situation decided that right then was a good time to come calling.

What the hell had brought him here?

_Just following orders._

He grunted, lowering his head. It had been a long time since he was compelled to follow anyone else’s orders, not with what it had brought him in the past. His ambition had long ago turned to wealth and adventure, but it all seemed to lead back to what he’d been trained for in the first place. _To obey._ And now it had led him full circle, back into the clutches of a loathsome corporation. Which, frankly, was all starting to get really damn—

“Don’t get the meatloaf.”

Flinching at the fresh presence at his elbow, he glanced sharply to the figure that had appeared at his side. The other man was easily taller than him, with long, _long_ legs, but a markedly leaner frame. He, too, had the look of an executive — with tailored black clothing and carefully sculpted hair, but the very _Hyperion_ image he presented was offset by a metallic right arm, and a pair of mismatched eyes. The conflicting brown and flash of blue were alluring enough to cause him to stare, to which the other man seemed to smirk in response.

“Sorry?” he blurted, realizing he hadn’t yet responded.

“The meatloaf,” the younger man’s eyes crinkled. “It’s not the kind of meat you might think.”

“Oh,” he gazed back at the board. “That’s, uh… a little sketchy, no?”

The man chuckled, tilting his head. Which — _adorable._ “You’re new here, aren’t you?”

“Is it really so obvious?”

“Well, you don’t have the typical defeated slouch of a seasoned Hyperion employee,” he hummed. “And your armour is just a little too _unmarred_ for you to have been in security very long…”

He tried not to move as the other man reached out to thumb at his spaulder, instead raising his eyebrows to tamp down a fluttering feeling. “Isn’t Hyperion mostly a tech company? Why is my _armour_ on the line here?”

“Pay a visit to R&D when you have some free time. It will be…enlightening.”

He smirked. “I’ll have to do that. Thanks.”

“I’m Rhys,” the man lifted his robotic arm, reaching a hand forward.

“Ax-uh… _Alex.”_

Rhys gave him a warm, charming smile — which was doing very troubling things to his stomach.

“Welcome to Helios, Alex.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Short, sweet first chapter.


	2. The Professional

Entering via the main hangar turned out not to be a valid option. The massive space was almost constantly occupied, witnessing the regular comings and goings of vessels of varying sizes. Most appeared to be Elpis or deep space bound; very few turned out to be headed to or from Pandora. And between the regular circuits of his fellow security officers, an Orwellian amount of surveillance cameras, and a veritable army of loader bots, Axton was quickly convinced that this was _not_ a future point of entry for the Crimson Raiders.

A small party with inside help would have more of a chance, but would be far less effective once inside, unless all they intended to do was stoke chaos. Either way, he’d have to keep searching, which was a disappointing bit of news that he did not look forward to delivering to Roland.

But luckily enough for him, his cover had afforded him a break from the constant stream of Crimson orders. He was required to check in only once every week or so, and only if he managed to find a place that was isolated enough to keep his secret. And even then, the exchanges were brief — quick updates that left the Firehawk rolling her eyes before cutting the feed. The interactions always left a bad taste in his mouth, as if he had been somehow wasting her time.

Well, fuck _you,_ Lilith — you try infiltrating Handsome goddamn Jack’s fortress without getting airlocked.

The quiet hostility of Helios was also finally starting to take its toll. Between rounds of pointless circuits through mostly empty halls and snide remarks from douchebags in ridiculously overpriced clothing, the lifestyle was worrying at his last frayed nerve. How was it possible to see so many loathsome faces in one tightly confined space? At the very least, his own department provided some respite, but they didn’t lack for their own set of assholes, if only for the same reason he was so annoyed — the place valued _machines_ over them.

“I don’t care what the propeller-heads say. I don’t trust ‘em.”

Axton snorted, glancing sharply to the trooper on his left. He had joined his coworker, a thirty-something man named Geoff, on a catwalk overlooking a vast section of the hanger, watching the arrival of one of the rare Pandoran shuttles before the disgruntled officer had gestured to an array of loader bots on the platform below, utterly dismissive of their presence. Axton schooled his expression, though it was tempting to smirk his support of his associate’s grumblings. The tin cans were, sure — _impressive —_ but he generally shared the sentiment.

“Why’s that?”

“What’s to stop them from goin’ feral?” Geoff hummed. “How do you trust people’s lives to a series of 0’s and 1’s?”

“And computer viruses, right?” Axton nudged, tossing fuel onto the fire. “I bet most of Hyperion’s competitors have their own hackers. I can’t see it being below Maliwan to trigger one of them to lose its shit in an office space.”

“Fuck off,” Geoff spat. “Machines goin’ postal.”

“Well, is it fair to leave it to quietly suicidal security workers to have all the fun?”

Stiffening, Axton turned toward the new presence that had joined them on the catwalk. Climbing the stairs was a lean, frankly _badass_ looking woman in a black duster and wide brimmed hat. The dangerous looking beauty offered him a tight smirk, with one hand resting on her hip and the other clutching a pretty serious double barrelled shotgun.

Axton side-eyed the _Jakobs_ brand etched into the gun in surprise. Was that even allowed?

“Welcome back, Ms. Kadam,” Geoff greeted, offering a salute. “How was the trip?”

“Tedious as ever,” she huffed. “And much as I’d love to stay and chat — which is _not at all,_ by the way — I’ve got a train wreck to prevent. Could you tell me where the hell Jack is?”

Geoff lifted his head, as if checking his visor HUD. “Robotics is currently locked down. I’d wager there, if not his office.”

“Of _course_ he is,” she snapped. “Those idiots.”

Uh. What the hell was happening?

Axton paused to activate his own HUD, quickly capturing a scan of the woman standing opposite. There was little to read in her file, as it had apparently been scrubbed clean, but what was left was a surprisingly high clearance level and a label. The title, “Sheriff of Lynchwood”, was certainly fitting, given the western aesthetic. He had little time to consider where exactly she fit into the Hyperion storyline, however, as the woman had stepped forward to snap impatient fingers in his face.

“Hey. Faceless peon number two. Why don’t you make yourself useful and show me the way to Robotics?”

Geoff straightened. “He’s pretty new. I can take you, if you prefer—”

“I think he can handle it. Besides, you’ve got some loader bots to babysit.” She slipped her arm into the crook of Axton’s elbow, passing a final, disinterested glance toward Geoff. “By the way — your _boss_ programmed those bots. I’ll let him know you’re a fan of the product.”

They didn’t stay to see Geoff’s reaction, not that they could with the helmet obscuring his dumb face. The woman had nodded him forward, and Axton obediently advanced, leading the way down the catwalk. He mostly remained silent, cooly intimidated by the spitfire that had her palm gripping his biceps. But when they found their way into the narrow hallways outside of the vast hangar, the suddenly quiet atmosphere became more than a little stifling.

“Mind ditching the helmet?” she snorted, freeing his arm. “Be a little _less_ of a nobody for a few minutes.”

“Sorry, ma’am,” he hummed, flipping the helmet off with a now practiced motion. He passed it over his digistruct device, then again lifted his hand to run fingers through his hair, scratching softly at his scalp.

“Oof. Well, _hello.”_ Axton gazed back to see her eyebrow quirked upward in appreciation. “You can call me Nisha, sweetheart. What’s your name?”

“Uh,” Axton went fiercely red as she supplied him an amber wink. “Alex. Nice to meet you.”

“You’re quite the looker, aren’t you? Rugged scars and all. Where’d you come from?”

Heat flourished in his cheeks; he desperately searched his mind for the traces of his cover story. It was difficult to summon forward with her hand slipping back into his arm, tugging him bodily closer as they strode down the hallway. “Former military. Mostly ground-based ops on Tantalus. Decided to take a corporate gig for some, uh, _stability.”_

Nisha made a face. “And you came to _Hyperion_ for stability?”

Axton dared to smirk. “Yeah, the finger gun fights have been _super_ disruptive.”

“Oh, little one,” Nisha’s hand stroked along his armour. “You really _are_ new. But I like the spirit. Try not to lose it.”

It was unnerving that Nisha was the _second_ person to have suggested he’d yet to experience the full potential of Helios. As they walked along, arm in arm, he silently pleaded that the eventuality wouldn’t fully take him by surprise, especially given that he was somehow making his way to Handsome Jack’s presence once again.

The pair arrived at an arterial elevator — one of only two that ran the entire length of the left tower, and Nisha took the lead, scanning her ECHO to override the interface. Axton stared in muted awe, stepping back at the elevator car’s arrival to watch the annoyance appear on the faces of those occupying it when they realized their ride had been hijacked, only to fade into terror upon sighting Nisha.

“Get the hell out,” she ordered, flicking her hand. The three employees exited with haste, and Axton felt his heart flutter as he followed her into the now empty elevator. What did a guy have to do to get _that_ kind of power on Helios? And with such mastery — Nisha was casually disinterested in the effect she had, leaning against the wall of the elevator like she was already bored. Axton grinned his appreciation, turning to punch in the proper floor that he had thankfully been able to memorize from his time standing like an idiot at the map.

“What kind of ops?”

He swallowed hard at the question. “Pardon?”

“You said ground ops,” Nisha seemed to lean forward, smile turning catlike. “What kind?”

“Mostly offensive,” he replied, able to answer at least somewhat honestly. “Often had to deal with insurgents controlling key resources. You know. Pest control.”

Nisha’s eyebrows shot up. “Well, shit. I think I like you. If you get sick of working for Jack, feel free to come on down to Lynchwood. I could use a man with your assets.”

The subtle come-on in her tone was not lost on him. Axton shifted as his ego grew, turning his head ever slightly to pass her a smouldering gaze. Nisha returned the look, upping the ante with a suggestive bite at her lip. Well, _damn_.

“Fuck.” Her face shifted, and she slugged him in the arm. Axton stumbled a step, taken aback by the fact that she’d hit him, and that she didn't seem fazed in the least by punching his metal armour. “Stop distracting me. I’m _pissed.”_

He straightened, remembering himself. “What’s the trouble?”

“Freaking Wilhelm,” she growled, gesturing with her shotgun. “I heard he’s back on Helios for another — well, _fuck_ — you’ll see.”

When they at last arrived on the Robotics floor, passing the lockdown with little trouble by the wave of her ECHO, there was a fresh haste in Nisha’s step. Axton was forced to lengthen his stride in an effort to keep up, having little time to wonder why he was even there at all when she appeared to know exactly where she was going. Or perhaps it was just sheer confidence that led her way, which had him all the more aroused.

Impressed. He meant impressed. What were we talking about?

It was also the first time that _he_ had been to this floor. He was amazed to learn that Robotics was a peculiarly _clean_ department. The sheer brightness of its white, sterile aesthetic almost had him squinting as he followed Nisha through the production lines. He’d incorrectly expected oil stains on the floors and chunky machinery, but most of the workshops were composed of highly complex interfaces and downright pristine laboratories. Even the men and women working here were immaculate, in their white lab coats and ECHO enhanced glasses. They paused only briefly in their tasks, long enough to get a glimpse of the boot in the bright yellow armour chasing after the violet cowgirl.

Halfway through the expansive series of open-walled labs, they arrived at a heavy duty set of doors marked with “restricted access” in bold, red letters. Nisha shuffled her grip on her shotgun to raise a fist and bang it against the metal.

“Jack! Open the freakin’ doors, you dick bag!”

Nisha’s shout had Axton almost flinching, eyes wide in alarm. He was even further taken aback when the doors _immediately_ slid open, revealing a fairly annoyed looking, but somehow not murderous, Handsome Jack.

Well, shit. Twice in as many weeks. What were the chances? Axton stiffened, realizing and regretting that he had removed his helmet. The obscurity of his nondescript role was meant to help him maintain a low profile. But luckily, Jack didn’t seem to even notice his presence — instead glaring down at Nisha, presumably irritated at having been disrupted.

“Nisha. Who invited you?”

“I did,” she snapped. “When I heard piss for brains was undergoing yet another enhancement. And you’re going along with it like the shit friend you are.”

“Language, kitten,” Jack chided, a brow raised. “If I knew you were coming to my space station just to throw a tantrum, I’d have had your shuttle shot down.”

 _“Someone_ has to stop you morons. What the hell is he having done this time? Laser eyes? pistol tits? Why don’t you just install a friggin’ toaster in his chest?”

“Bread is fattening. And besides — Wil is perfectly capable of handling a few upgrades. Ain’tcha, Wil?”

A massive loader bot in the room beyond turned around at Jack’s beckoning. Axton winced, paling upon realizing that it was not, in fact, a loader bot, and there was at least half a man attached to those tall, mechanical legs. Or forty-five percent. Maybe? Either way, the stern looking cyborg merely grunted a response, sneering in their general direction. But really, it was the least bizarre part of what Axton was currently experiencing.

“Did you just say bread is _fattening?”_ Nisha blanched. “Shit, Jack, he’s really doing a number—”

“Nish, babe, hold on a sec,” Jack interrupted; Axton stilled as the Hyperion president pointedly stepped directly in front of him. He appeared to be looking him over, scrutinizing his face with narrowed eyes. “Mind explaining what _you’re_ doing here?”

“Uh, I—”

“He’s with me,” Nisha snapped. “And hell, I might take him with me later. At least he’ll be of some use down on Pandora.”

Jack’s head swivelled back to Nisha with a grin. “Gettin’ real desperate, Nish? Miss old Jack so much you have to search for new chunks of meat?”

“You shut your stupid trout mouth,” she snarled. “Don’t change the subject. This is not—”

“If you want to talk, get your ass inside,” Jack gestured with a head jerk. “And leave your boy toy out here. This party is exclusive.”

Jack did not give her time to retort; he pivoted on his heel and proceeded back into the lab. It left Nisha to silently rage for a moment, wringing a hand in the air where Jack’s neck had been before relenting with a sigh. She passed an apologetic look Axton’s way before following after Handsome Jack.

“Sorry, kid. Looks like you gotta hang here for a bit. It’s for the best, anyway — trust me.”

He did. Axton simply sank back as the doors closed behind Nisha, left alone in the aftershock of Handsome Jack’s wake. He blinked once or twice, doing his best to absorb all that he’d witnessed. Because — what in the hell?

Shaking his head, he turned to wander back down the wide hallway that cut the department in half. Absentmindedly patting at the weapon holstered on his thigh — an older Hyperion Lady Finger — he peered curiously through the open layout of the labs, scanning various bots in different states of construction as they hung from armour racks. Most of the technicians working throughout seemed to ignore him without Nisha’s company, with the exception of a brunet that occasionally sent glances his way. Axton’s eyes passed over the man in initial disinterest, but stopped to linger on the red tie under his lab coat, suddenly reminded of the auburn-haired man he’d promised to meet that afternoon.

Bizarre interactions with Handsome Jack aside, Rhys had been one of the more interesting surprises about Helios. He was one of the only seemingly genuine people he had met outside of the security department, leaving Axton strangely excited the second and third times they had run into one another. There was no doubt that their exchanges left him feeling conflicted, as he had always maintained that keeping his head low was in his best interest, but it didn’t hurt to have a friend or two as a cover. Or, you know. Whatever Rhys would turn out to be.

Not that Axton was—

“Can I help you?”

Axton blinked, lifting his eyes from the man’s tie to his face as he struggled to process the technician’s words past his strange accent, and the way he stared back as if wary of Axton’s watchful gaze. He appeared to be frozen in place, tablet in hand where he hovered over a half built cleaning bot.

“No,” Axton grunted, straightening. “As you were.”

The man’s expression flickered with annoyance.

“Are you even supposed to be here? This is a sterile facility.”

 _This shit again._ Axton gave him a slight sneer.

“I’m here with Ms. Kadam,” he snapped, because _yeah, he was!_ “There going to be a problem?”

The technician did not respond with the unease Geoff had displayed. In fact, he looked downright _frustrated_ — even more than most of the Hyperion employees Axton had come to encounter. Only when a female tech approached his workbench did his penetrating stare lift away from Axton’s direction.

“Something wrong, Alan?”

“No. Nothing.”

Axton in turn looked away, busying himself with inspecting a nearby lineup of SGT loaders hanging from armour racks. Maybe there was something to be gleaned from their production process that could prove useful, if nothing else did. But something about the technician’s behaviour niggled at him. He exhaled sharply through his nose, glancing over his shoulder to find the other man continued to take nervous looks in his direction.

The department was strangely devoid of security, but his presence shouldn’t be _that_ odd, should it? It left him feeling wary, although he had done nothing to compromise his cover. Regardless, Axton spun, taking his time in crossing the room. His slow approach seemed to further antagonize the man, who had returned to his work but was watching Axton out of the corner of his eye.

“Mind showing me what you’re working on?”

The man exhaled his fury, reaching up to adjust his glasses. “Is it really any of your business?”

“That depends,” Axton narrowed his eyes. “Do you have something to hide?”

“Don’t be preposterous,” he snapped. “And how _dare_ you. I am a professional.”

“You’re pretty darn jittery for a _professional._ Or does that have something to do with your special guest today?”

Axton jerked his head toward the blast doors in the distance; the technician’s lip curled with a snarl.

“I beg your pardon? I don’t — I’m not — I am _working!”_

“As long as that’s all you’re doing,” Axton snorted. “I suppose it shouldn’t be a problem for me to hang around then?”

“I don’t see why that’s necessary.”

“Excuse me,” Axton’s tone shifted politely as he smiled at the woman standing nearby, who was watching in timid silence. “Are you familiar with this man?”

“Yes, sir,” she squeaked. Axton eased back at the pulse of satisfaction from the minor show of respect. Finally — a _sir._ “We work on the same product line.”

“And how long has he been onboard?” Axton hummed, tapping at his digistruct device. He could just as easily take out his helmet to scan the man in confirmation, but what would be the fun in that?

“Alan?” she gazed toward her colleague in thought. “Um — just about three weeks, I suppose. He’s fresh out of—”

“Three weeks. How convenient.”

The tech — Alan — stared at Axton in wordless rage, and in the next instant, he was moving forward, wrapping an arm around the woman’s throat. Fucking _what?_

Somehow ignoring the surprise turn of events, Axton drew his pistol in a fluid motion, just as the man brought his own weapon from his lab coat to press the barrel against the woman’s head. She screamed, hands snapping up to grip the arm tightening against her neck.

“I’m not letting you fuck this up for me,” the apparent mercenary hissed, eyes wild. “I can’t fail!”

“Slow down,” Axton ordered. “Don’t be hasty. We can—”

“Shut the fuck up!” he barked. “You Hyperion lackeys are all the same. Too busy licking your overlord’s boots to see him for the monster he is. Fuck you.”

Bristling with hostility, Axton angled his finger onto the trigger.

“Put the gun down. Take it easy. We can talk this out.”

“No. You don’t understand.”

 _But I do._ Axton briefly eyed the terrified woman, feeling a flare of concern. Hyperion employees were generally pieces of shit, but they were _innocent_ in their own fashion.

“I can’t let you hurt her.”

“I don’t _want_ to hurt her,” he growled, voice sounding fractured. “I’m only here for—”

Commotion in the distance, presumably drawn by the woman’s scream, stole the merc’s attention away for a brief moment. It was long enough for Axton to grab at the chance to take a few clean, precise shots.

The first bullet winged his shoulder, drawing a stunned gasp from the merc and pivoting his upper body away from the woman. The second bullet punched through his now visible windpipe, leaving him wide eyed and gurgling in disbelief, wavering in place as the woman in his grasp shrieked and slipped her way to freedom. Axton stepped between the two, crossing the distance as the man fell to his knees before collapsing onto the floor. He kicked the discarded pistol away and pressed a boot onto the merc’s chest, aiming the Lady Finger down into his face.

“You are _joking,_ right?” he grunted. “First, you take an innocent hostage. Then you start _monologuing,_ and—”

He spared a quick glance toward the pistol that he had knocked out of reach.

“No kidding. Did you really think you were going to take out Handsome Jack with a _Vladof?”_

While they were fast guns, they had inferior accuracy, which was pretty important for such a serious mark. The whole thing stank of amateurism, and a fair amount of desperation. Whoever had sent him hadn’t spent too much time on the specifics of the job, something that was often left to passionate hatred — which wasn’t altogether surprising, considering the target.

Blood oozed from the wound; the man’s eyes took on a familiar, vacant sheen. Axton sighed, kneeling at his side to scan his face with little empathy as he began to draw his final breaths. He was half tempted to put himself in the would-be assassin’s shoes, to picture his own fate were his plot to fail, but given the fact that Axton had been able to sniff out the man’s intentions because of a dirty look was all he needed to brush it off as a pathetic waste of time.

“Seriously, though. A _Vladof_. Against Handsome Jack. Have some self respect.”

“Couldn’t have said it better myself, kiddo.”

Axton shot to his feet. Handsome Jack had appeared at his side, staring down at the now-dead merc in distaste. His own pistol — the Vision — dangled in his grip, but Jack seemed content with the current state of the man on the floor.

“Sir.” Axton snapped to attention. “Apologies, sir. He was—”

“Nah,” Jack waved his hand. “Don’t bother. He’s the third one this quarter. S’why Cade’s been on a hiring rampage.”

It really shouldn’t have been surprising to see Handsome Jack acting so cavalier about a murder attempt, but Axton was stupefied. Jack moved forward to inspect the corpse, snorting his derision.

“God dammit. This is going to cause trouble,” he growled lightly, tapping at his watch. “Blake. Send a cleanup crew to Robotics. Get Cade up here. Oh — and keep it quiet for once, would you? I’ve got enough to deal with right now.”

He didn’t bother waiting for a reply, lifting his head to scan Axton.

“Nice work, kid. Looks like you guys aren’t totally useless after all.”

“Uh…thanks. Sir.”

“Yeah, yeah,” he dismissed, already heading back to the lab. “Hang out until Cade arrives, alright? I’m a little busy over here.”

As Axton turned to watch Jack head back to the lab, he spied Nisha leaned against the doorway beyond, staring at him with a smirk. She winked, he blushed, and she followed Jack back to the monstrosity that had been occupying them in the next room.

The dust quickly settled, leaving Axton alone with the dead mercenary. Oh, plus the frightened technician sobbing quietly on the floor, and about half a dozen other employees who had wandered over out of curiosity. He took the opportunity to again crouch beside the body, rifling through his lab coat and coming up empty. There was a brief temptation to feel bad — to wonder if the man’s efforts had been for an important cause. But really, what had he expected? There was literally a giant, half robotic man in the next room, not to mention Nisha and her trusty shotgun. And Handsome Jack himself — who was known to have deadly aim and no doubt had equipped a state of the art personal shield. Whoever had sent the assassin was damn sloppy, and had opened the opportunity to let Axton look _damn good._

Maybe now, he’d be respected.

* * *

  
  
News travelled quickly on Helios, but despite the role Axton played in eliminating the mercenary, very little had changed. Cade hadn’t given him more than a pat on the back and a quick “good job” before ordering him down to check in for debriefing. And once he’d escaped the tedious process, having been given the rest of the day off, he was disappointed to find that nothing else was different.

Simply put — attempts on Jack’s life were commonplace, and hardly worthy of gossip. It left Axton feeling equal parts annoyed, useless, and a little ashamed that he was looking for acknowledgement at all. _So much for keeping your head down._

And what if, by some crazy chance, the assassination attempt had been successful, and Jack had been plugged in the middle of the Robotics department? It would mean Axton could leave, and go back to—

Axton froze, staring out the window across from the bench where he sat. Where would he go when he was done here? Even if his efforts eventually paid off, he was beginning to have doubts about his place amongst the Crimson Raiders. Setting out to be a Vault Hunter had been promising at the start, but it was starting to feel…

_Pointless. Like so much else you’ve done._

He growled, easing back in the seat, eyes lingering on the shape of Pandora outside the windows. At least he had a moment alone to breathe. And the small, isolated corner that he’d managed to find in the hallways outside of the Hub afforded him a rather pleasant view of the stars, one that turned out to be particularly rare in the opulent space station. But despite the downtime, he couldn’t help the frown that tugged at his face. What the fuck was he doing here?

“Well, hey there, soldier boy.”

Axton flinched, lifting his head at Rhys’ approach. The auburn-haired man fired a set of finger guns his way, which for some reason he got away with as being less ridiculous and more just adorably dorky. An odd flutter went up in Axton’s stomach, but he tamped it down. “Sorry I’m late. Didn’t notice your ping. You’re off a little early?”

“Yeah,” Axton shrugged, turning to gaze back to Pandora as Rhys settled to his left. “Been a bit of a day.”

“Oh?” Rhys tilted his head. “You seem a little off… How have things been going?”

“Mostly uneventful,” Axton lied, swallowing the lump in his throat before forcing a smile. “R&D seems to be quieter than you led me to believe.”

Something flashed in Rhys’ eyes when he looked away. “Yeah…I heard they were ordered to cease the eridium related experiments, which are what usually lead to more… _messy_ results.”

Axton drew rigid. If they’d halted the eridium flow, did that mean the Raiders had made a move planet-side? He hated not knowing, being so cut off from proper intel. Luckily for him, he’d made friends with one of the few people who seemed to know what was going on at all levels of Helios.

But upon glancing sideways toward Rhys, he caught what appeared to be a lingering look of melancholy that seemed out of place on his gentle features.

“Is everything okay, Rhys?”

“Yeah…” Rhys rubbed at his neck, offering a weak nod. “There was an attack today. I always get a little stressed out when that happens.”

“Oh, uh, yeah…” Axton coughed. “Don’t worry, though. It was quick. No one got hurt. Uh, I mean, _besides_ the assassin.”

“You were there?” Rhys sat up. “Can you tell me what happened?”

“A pathetic hit job from a mercenary,” he answered with a smirk. “No big deal, apparently.”

Rhys winced. “Yeah. I suspected as much. Damn it.”

“If it makes you feel any better, he really only seemed to be gunning for Handsome Jack. I don’t think he meant to hurt anyone innocent.”

After a silent, heavy moment, Rhys turned and gave him a hard look. Axton tensed up, feeling a pulse of unease at his mistake.

“I mean — I don’t — uh, Handsome Jack was _fine._ A shitty mercenary is never going to get the drop on that guy. One would need an army to take him out.”

_With any luck._

Something shifted in Rhys’ expression that he couldn’t pinpoint. But his explanation seemed to do the trick, as the other man turned his eyes to the floor. Axton let out a subtle exhale of relief, chiding himself for his folly. Anti-Hyperion sentiment was likely to get him airlocked, even if he was talking to someone as easy going as Rhys. Handsome Jack inspired a frankly bizarre following, a devotion that was equally confusing and terrifying. He’d only hoped that Rhys would be different, but it was a lot to ask.

But he was sharper than most. Maybe he would see the light, given time.

“Did _you_ kill the merc?”

Axton snorted, noticing a twisted grin that went across Rhys’ face.

“Of course I did.”

“No shit.”

“Dang, Rhys,” Axton nudged an elbow into his side. “Are you really surprised? Have a little faith.”

“You’re the _new_ guy, Alex,” Rhys smirked. “You gotta prove yourself.”

“Does shooting the man attempting to kill Handsome Jack achieve that?”

Rhys reached out, resting a hand on his shoulder. “In spades, bro.”

_Don’t lean in. Don’t lean in. Don’t lean in._

Axton somehow managed to show an inhuman amount of strength, leaning back and tearing his attention off of those gorgeous, mismatched eyes. Rhys chuckled awkwardly, lowering his hand as if picking up on the hint that it was time to change the subject.

“So other than saving the day, how have you been doing? Are you enjoying it here?”

“Decent. And mostly. It’s not really what I expected.”

“Oh?”

“I’ve only worked a few security jobs before this, but I’m surprised at the lack of, uh, _respect.”_

Rhys seemed to fight with his amusement at Axton’s statement. “What do you mean?”

Axton considered while scratching at his stubble, making a mental note to shave. Because it was _unprofessional,_ not because he was spending more and more time with Rhys. Totally unrelated. “What I mean is that you’d think that the armour and the _gun_ would remind people that I’m here for their safety. But most people either ignore us or treat us like dirt.”

“The ‘holier than thou’ persona is actually a job requirement in most Hyperion departments,” Rhys pointed out. “Consider yourself lucky, Alex. You have one of the few department heads that isn’t a complete knob. You should meet _my_ old boss. Someone is definitely going to airlock his ass one day.”

“That—” Axton sat up. “That doesn’t actually happen very often, right?”

Rhys grinned, prodding Axton’s flank. “Look at it this way. Less cleanup. Shorter incident report.”

“Dang.”

“You’ll get used to it,” Rhys promised.

“I’m not sure I want to.”

Again, an imperceptible look crossed the other man’s face. Axton paused to consider it this time, studying Rhys’ expression in quiet appreciation.

“So, uh,” Rhys turned red, lifting his prosthetic to run fingers through his hair. “I’m going for drinks with a couple of my pals on Friday. Would you like to come?”

“Oh,” Axton blanched. “Really?”

“I mean, it’s no big deal.” Rhys jerked his foot, as if kicking at a rock that wasn’t there. “Just a casual thing. We do it every so often. Used to do it every week.”

_Sorry, I have to work that night. I made other plans. I’m supposed to run some training simulations. Cade wants me to do a weapons check. I can’t get close to you._

Axton’s mouth had drifted open as he considered all of these excuses and more. But when his mind finally snapped back into place, and his voice returned, only one answer seemed sufficient enough.

“I’d love to go, Rhys.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Axton's opinions of Vladof weaponry do not reflect those of JacksRightHand.


	3. Alex of Hyperion

“So. What brings you here, soldier?”

At the centre of a dingy, dimly-lit room serving as the current location of his interrogation, Axton shifted slightly in his seat, glancing warily around the tight space that the Crimson Raiders called home. Sanctuary itself had been mostly unassuming, beyond the massive walls that managed to repel the odd bandit attack, and the dank headquarters where he now sat were even less impressive. Next to what he had experienced with Dahl, it was all fairly pathetic. But in all fairness, he hadn’t come to expect much from an army of former Atlas nobodies led by a Vault Hunter.

But despite the lack of inspiration at his surroundings, he maintained his respectful demeanour with the man sitting across. “To Pandora, sir? Or here?”

“Let’s start with Pandora.”

After having deserted his post before his imminent meeting with a firing squad, Axton had pursued more ambitious goals. Bounty after bounty took him across the known universe, keeping his pockets full and his ammo plentiful. But he had yet to achieve that which he strived for — a great, satisfying personal glory. How he was to manage this was a mystery yet even to him, but it ultimately led to the outer planets, and Pandora in particular.

But that was a friggin’ mouthful, and more than he wanted to share, so instead he settled for:

“I ran my course with Dahl — we didn’t exactly see eye to eye. Figured I would try my luck out here.”

“And what were you looking for?”

He kept his head high as he considered, maintaining careful eye-contact. It wasn’t difficult to read Roland — he was a career soldier, much like Axton. But where Axton had dug his own professional grave, it was said that Roland had been betrayed. Even better, as he was a man with a cause, which made it easier to appeal to his needs.

“I was born with a purpose, sir,” Axton answered. “A sense of duty that I can’t ignore. I couldn’t sit idly by with so many people out there looking for help.”

_By means of a bounty board, of course._ But Roland didn’t need to know that. Not that a Vault Hunter wouldn’t understand. But Axton suspected that Roland’s intentions ran a little more parallel to his sense of justice than his own self serving interests.

“Cut the bullshit, kid. It won’t work here.”

Axton stiffened, head swivelling toward the woman that had come striding into the room. The hostile looking redhead seemed to ignore his presence despite her comment, instead slipping along behind Roland, whose expression minutely tightened. His shoulders shifted as her fingers slid along them, a motion that Axton couldn’t pin down as discomfort or quiet delight. Either way, his attention quickly turned back to the woman, at last noticing the myriad of tattoo-like symbols on her arm.

His eyes widened. He had heard of Sirens before, simply as some distant legend, more of a myth uttered between his fellow soldiers. But there was no mistaking that the woman setting a tight glare in his direction was one of these such beings; her arm almost pulsed with raw power. And it was all so…

Disappointing. Which was the theme of the day, so far. Or the last few months.

“Pardon?” he snapped, shaking off the initial shock of her appearance. “What does that mean?”

“Don’t pretend you’re a saint to pull on Roland’s heartstrings,” she snorted. “The simple fact is that you are former Dahl, and now you’re on Pandora. That doesn’t happen by accident.”

Axton straightened. “I didn’t say it did.”

“No.” A thin, hateful smirk spread across her lips. “But you obviously aren’t being honest about your intentions here.”

“Lilith, this isn’t necessary,” Roland grumbled. “I have it handled.”

“You’re too lax about the people you bring on board, Roland,” the redhead chided, sweeping her gaze back to the stern commander. “Are we really so desperate for soldiers that you won’t do a little digging?”

Without waiting for an answer, Lilith strode across the room. Axton flinched, raising his arm to grip her wrist as she plucked the dog tag off his chest. The pair froze, expressions set with fury as they exchanged glares.

“So?” she hummed, an eyebrow quirked. “What would this piece of metal reveal about you?”

“That’s none of your business.”

“If you plan to keep secrets, you have no place here.”

Axton released his grasp long enough to abruptly find his feet, using his barest height advantage to shift the power imbalance.

“Are you really in a place to turn away willing, trained men?” he growled. “Or is it untrue that the Crimson Raiders have been bleeding out since Handsome Jack disappeared?”

A flicker of heat flashed in the Siren’s eyes; her lips curled.

“Get your hands off me.”

“Funny, I’m fairly certain you put yours on me first.”

“That’s enough.”

Roland stood, setting upon them a heavy stare. There was no real judgement in the hard lines of his face, only something akin to fatigue.

“Lilith, stand down.”

“Roland—”

“Please don’t treat me as though I am naive,” Roland insisted, levelling a look her way. “It is true that most people don’t come to Pandora with good intentions. But as a former Crimson Lance, I have no difficulty understanding where Axton is coming from. And he’s right, Lil’. We’re steadily losing men every day. If we still want to take down Jack, we need all the help we can get.”

“We’re not desperate.”

“We _are.”_

Roland sighed, lifting a hand to Lilith’s cheek. Axton balked at the sudden affection, turning his gaze away as if to afford them the barest space.

“Nothing we have done since Elpis has been of any worth. Not really. We need to change course.”

Lilith’s eyes edged wide. “Does this mean you’ve reconsidered—”

“Yes,” Roland nodded. “And with Axton here, I think it will work. He shouldn’t be on Hyperion radar yet.”

Why did that sound ominous? Axton adjusted his weight between his feet, folding his arms behind his back. Roland turned his way, offering a sharp nod.

“We have a job for you, soldier. But it won’t be easy.”

Lilith left Roland’s arms to again stand in front of Axton. This time, however, she appeared a little more reserved. It did nothing to alleviate the tightness in his chest.

“But we’re going to have to do something about this,” she hummed.

Axton winced at the sharp tap against his forehead. He knowingly lifted a hand to his rank, brushing fingers over the rocker. The thought of removing it had always left a bitter taste in his mouth, clashing with his pride, but it made sense. He simply hadn’t expected it so soon.

“May I ask why?”

“Because this job isn’t for Axton of Dahl,” she replied softly, lips stretching into a catlike grin. “It’s for Alex of Hyperion.”

* * *

The initial ego boost at having eliminated Handsome Jack’s would-be assassin had entirely faded overnight. It left behind a sick feeling in the pit of Axton’s stomach that had little to do with the elevator ride on the way to work, a swirl of regret and unease at having been called in on his only day off. Cade had insisted on his presence, which was a sure sign that things were about to change. And he was very likely to blame.

The feeling had not subsided by the time he had joined the lineup of Hyperion troopers in the halls outside of Cade’s office. In fact, it had started the climb up his throat, clawing its way with bile against the tight lump that had formed. He did his best to ignore it, and Geoff, who had found his way back to his side and had thrown a barrage of questions at him about Nisha and the assassin for which he didn’t actually seem to want answers. Luckily, Cade stepped out of his office soon after, levelling the hallway with an immediate silence.

“Alright, ladies. You can quit your gossiping, shit’s about to get real.” Cade stopped halfway into the hallway to consult a tablet in his hands. “As we all know, hostility toward Hyperion has skyrocketed in the past few months. The latest attempt on Handsome Jack’s life is just a drop in the pond. And with our next press release on the horizon, we only expect more. We are continuing to hire, but be prepared for the following changes…”

The pause was agonizing. Axton stiffened, shooting Cade a glance out of the corner of his eye. It likely meant nothing that he had stopped next to him, right?

“Loader bot circulation has tripled. They will be present on every floor, and in every department. We will be establishing checkpoints throughout Helios that will operate at all hours. This will mean extended shifts until we bring more boots on board.”

A collective groan went up.

“Shut it,” Cade snapped. “Now — we are also adding personal security to a number of the higher ups. This will also be a rotational schedule, to be started tomorrow. I expect those chosen to be wide eyed and bushy tailed for six AM.”

Well, that was going to complicate things. Because no doubt—

As much as he expected it, Axton still flinched at the touch of Cade’s hand on his shoulder. He passed him a sobering look, and Axton quietly thanked the cover of his helmet for hiding his wince.

“You be here early, Alex,” he hummed. “Consider it a promotion, following your performance yesterday.”

_Great._

“Yes, sir.”

“The rest of you will get marching orders by the end of the day. That’s it. Now get lost.”

Axton remained still as the rest of his fellow troopers filed out of the hallway. Even Geoff seemed to know better than to stop and pester him, slipping past without another word. It wasn’t until he was alone that he let out a heavy sigh, dropping his eyes to the ground.

Well, shit. This wasn’t going to help.

He checked the time in his HUD, jaw tightening upon confirming it was still early yet. Disappointed he hadn't been afforded an excuse to delay, he turned and made his way down the hallway.

The trip normally took about twenty minutes altogether, thirty if he doubled back in an effort to lose any possible tails. It was silly to suspect he’d ever be followed on foot, given the sheer amount of cameras all over the station, but it was a habit he’d never really been able to kick. A paranoia that clung to him at every step, following his journey through the multiple shuttle rides and elevator cars.

Eventually, he arrived in the bowels of Helios, a collection of floors that had apparently been relegated for nothing more than storage and facility maintenance. There were more bots than humans at these levels, and they all pointedly ignored the presence of a security officer, which benefited him all the greater. By the time he found the isolated room he had deemed safe for his uses, he had already been alone in the empty hallways for longer than five minutes. It was only then that he retrieved his old ECHO device from his inventory.

The video feed on the crusty old gadget was low-res and littered with static, but it was sufficient. Anything stronger might catch the attention of any Hyperion tech, so it was best to go small and be quick about it. Lilith answered after a tense forty seconds, expression thick with irritation upon setting sight on Axton.

“About time. Where have you been?”

He bit his tongue. _Just get through it._

“Things have taken a turn up here,” he explained. “They’re increasing security. More bots, more cameras, more bodies. Another merc tried to take Jack out, so they aren’t fucking around.”

_Don’t mention your involvement in said attempt._

“Fantastic,” she drawled. “What else?”

“We might have to change tactics,” he shrugged. “Jack doesn’t care for security, but he’s not exactly vulnerable at any given time.”

“You’ve seen Jack?”

“Yeah. Twice.”

“And he doesn’t have a security detail?”

“No. But I bet—”

“Are you sure it was Jack?”

Axton’s eyebrow rose. “Uh…yeah? Hard to mistake anyone else for that asshole.”

“Well,” Lilith narrowed her eyes. “You’d be surprised.”

_Uh._

“Either way, you’re going to be there a bit longer than expected. We’ve located some new Hyperion facilities and the Raiders are spread a bit thin.”

“What?” Axton frowned. “So, wait, I’m on my own?”

“You will be a priority,” Lilith snapped. “When you give us something of value.”

_Bitch. Friggin’ bitch cu—_

“Was there anything else?”

_“No.”_ His response was sharp; Lilith noticed, but did not seem to care.

“Alright. Get your ass in gear, hunter.”

The feed cut out, leaving a high pitched buzzing in Axton’s ears. He clenched and unclenched his fist, staring forward at the wall as he considered smashing the ECHO device against it. 

What absolute bullshit was this? He was up here risking his life, and she had the audacity to be annoyed with _him?_ Where the fuck was the glory in _this?_ If it weren’t for Roland’s humble pleas for help, Axton would have been sure to take the next shuttle off this damn station.

Except — _oh._ He checked the time with a wince, then turned to replace the ECHO in his inventory. Pausing, he thought better, and instead gazed around the small room.

The storage space was dark, lit only by dim, ambient lighting around the outside walls. Several tall racks stood throughout, stacked full with various storage containers. Axton strode through the aisles, passing a hand along the boxes in search of a proper place to tuck the device away. At the end of one of the racks he paused to slip it into a crate marked “AID”, when his eye was caught by a peculiar sight.

At the back of the room, almost against the wall, was a deactivated fast travel station. It looked broken, with parts laying on the floor around the main structure. Various tools were strewn about, left as if the whole project had been abandoned, which did not give Axton much hope at repairing it. However, if he could get Scooter on a call…

He flinched at the sudden chime from his ECHO — the Hyperion one. As he gazed down to scan the device, feeling a flip in his stomach that it might be Cade again, he couldn’t help but smile at the message awaiting him.

**R: FML. This day is finally over. Need a drink. You still in?**

Axton was already on his way toward the door before he finished typing a response.

**A: Gotta go clean up. Then will be omw.**

**R: A shower, you say?**

His heart fluttered.

**A: CU soon, idiot.**

**R: >:D**

* * *

  
  
“Alex, this is Vaughn and Yvette. My partners in crime.”

“Sometimes literally,” Yvette, a teasing smile in four inch heels, offered her hand. “But you won’t arrest us, will you, hot stuff?”

“That depends,” Axton hummed over her knuckles. “Are you sure you wouldn’t enjoy my handcuffs?”

“Ooh.”

“Oh man,” the short, propeller-head looking friend — Vaughn — rolled his eyes. “Please do not encourage her. She doesn’t need the ego boost.”

“He’s right,” Rhys snorted, gently nudging Axton with his elbow. “Besides. I saw you first. So obviously I have ‘dibs.’”

Axton’s breath faltered; he gazed toward Rhys in surprise. He was met with a sharp quirk of eyebrows, and found himself speechless as Rhys lingered close to his side.

“Keep it in your pants, Rhys,” Yvette snapped. “You can’t have _all_ the good looking men on this station.”

Rhys smirked, moving away from Axton to ease into the booth across from his friends. He patted the seat beside him, and Axton followed immediately behind.

“What, are you gonna tell on me?” Rhys winked at Yvette. 

“Do I _look_ suicidal?”

As Axton sank into place next to Rhys, he took careful note of the bar they had chosen. It was moderately packed, being still early yet, and was occupied by a fairly surprising crowd. While most still dressed fairly _Hyperion,_ he spied a few unbuttoned collars and removed jackets to indicate a lax attitude he hadn’t seen on the station up until this point. Between that and the _sports bar_ feel to the place, he was markedly pleased that he almost felt at ease.

Especially with Rhys’ leg brushing against his every so often.

The cybernetic man himself was still dressed in his company attire, a black button up under a dark grey waistcoat, but had rolled his sleeves up; Axton spied where they sat against the crook of both elbows and felt a strange pulse of interest. The casual suit framed Rhys’ shape almost perfectly, and Axton decided just then that office attire might be his thing. Or maybe it was just the subject wearing it that made the difference. The dark blue tattoo of his flesh arm was particularly eye-catching, and had Axton wondering what else was hidden beneath.

Axton himself had ditched his gear back at his place, opting for a pair of slacks and navy button up. He’d preferred jeans and a t-shirt, but was fairly certain they didn’t exist on Helios. And besides, he wouldn’t exactly fit in, which was the point in the first place. But the shirt also fit snugly across his muscular frame in all the right ways, which he did not fail to notice had caught Rhys’ attention upon his arrival earlier.

“So,” Yvette hummed, once they’d put their orders in with a passing server. “Alex. What brought you to Helios?”

“Well, it was between this and Jakobs,” he smirked, pressing his back into the seat to slip an arm around the booth behind Rhys. _Casually,_ of course. “And as cool as Eden-6 is, the wildlife is a tad off putting.”

Rhys snorted a laugh. “Uh, have you been down to Pandora yet? Bullymongs, man. Or _stalkers.”_

“Have you ever seen a saurian?” Axton countered, giving him a sharp look. _“Tyrants,_ Rhys. Giant, angry reptiles with a ton of teeth. And don’t get me _started_ on the jabbers.”

“Jabbers?” Vaughn frowned. “Aren’t they pretty tame?”

“They have opposable thumbs and have some of them figured out how to use guns,” Axton gestured to the accountant. “Gimme an alpha skag any day.”

Vaughn blinked. “Who the hell gave them guns?”

“To be fair,” Rhys hummed. “It’s not just the wildlife of Pandora you have to worry about. Have you watched the feeds lately?”

Vaughn’s face seemed to light up with excitement; Yvette rolled her eyes. “Yes! Did you see—”

Axton almost groaned his relief at the return of the server, thankful for the conversation to have been cut short. It was better to avoid Pandora as a general topic, especially once the booze began to flow. _Loose lips sink starships._

But as the server dispensed their orders — a simple pale ale for Axton — he stiffened as a collection of shot glasses were also placed across the table. The multicoloured atrocities promised a hangover that already itched the back of his skull; he shot Rhys a look of betrayal, one that the other man returned with a coy grin.

“Something wrong, Alex?” he almost purred. “Not man enough for a couple shots?”

“Not _man_ enough?” Axton grunted, making a playful show of flexing his arms, a motion that Rhys avidly traced with his eyes. “The hell are you talking about, kid?”

Something flashed in Rhys’ expression, but only briefly. He picked up his shot, gesturing at Axton before clinking it with the others’ glasses. “Call me ‘kid’ again, and I’m ordering you the fruitiest drink they have.”

Axton grinned, but made a mental note. _Not a good pet name. Got it._

After a celebratory cheers — “to Friday!” — and the shots were downed and forgotten, the group quickly lapsed into casual, friendly banter. Axton settled in fairly easily, continuously surprised by Rhys and his choice of friends. Yvette had appeared somewhat uptight at first, and Vaughn was a particularly nervous looking character, but before long they were swapping their own stories with increasing amusement. A new face often provided an opportunity to relive memories amongst a well established friend group, and Axton was happy to experience the camaraderie firsthand.

Because after all, Rhys turned out to be an affectionate drunk. It wasn’t long before the physical contact was less fleeting and more demanding. And as Axton drifted backward into the booth, doing his best to remind himself he had to be up early when yet another round of shots arrived, Rhys was leaning forward over the table to grip his friend’s shoulder.

“Listen, Vaughn. You’re gonna get that promotion and you know it,” Rhys slurred. “You deserve it more than that idiot Carson.”

“I don’t know,” Vaughn shrugged. “Do I even want it? The headache of all that extra work…”

“And the extra vacation time and extra pay,” Rhys pointed out. “And you know that job backwards and forwards, Vaughn. It’s meant to be.”

“Could always use a helpful nudge, though,” Yvette suggested, tracing a finger around the rim of her martini glass. “Rhys, maybe you could—”

_“No!”_

Axton abruptly sat back, eyes wide at the simultaneous response from both Rhys and Vaughn. Rhys' brow furrowed briefly, and he cast a look away, at which Yvette seemed to sag apologetically.

“Sorry, I just—”

“I gotta piss.”

Rhys was already climbing over Axton before he had the chance to move; he froze in place as a hand pressed onto his shoulder for stability. He dropped onto the floor, straightened his waistcoat, and strode off through the bar.

“Damn it,” Yvette winced, watching Rhys disappear into the crowd. “I should—”

“Yes,” Vaughn growled. “Yes, you should.”

She sighed, downing her drink before heading off after Rhys’ trail. Axton watched, wordless, wondering what it was that he had just witnessed. In his own booze addled mind, he absently assumed it was some old, quietly ignored tension between the two, but it was hard to place.

“Are they okay?”

“They’re fine,” Vaughn waved a hand. “It’s a long story. Let’s just say Yvette isn’t really known for her tact.”

That didn't explain much. “Right. Okay…”

“So. How’s security working out for you?” Vaughn asked; Axton wavered, taking note at how quickly he forced the subject change. “You break up any finger gun fights yet?”

Questions yet lingered, but despite himself, he shot Vaughn a knowing grin. “Maybe a few. What’s up with that?”

“I think it started as some team building exercise a few years back,” he shrugged. “I don’t even know how it works. And I mean, is that really healthy in a place that _manufactures_ guns?”

“No shit,” Axton agreed. “I’ve seen the hostility around here first hand. I can’t believe no one has tried anything yet. I mean, besides...”

“Oh, right…” Vaughn’s eyebrows went up. “Rhys mentioned — did you really stop that merc the other day?”

“Yeah,” Axton winced. “He didn’t really give me a choice. Just glad I was there.”

“How’d you do it?”

Axton paused while sipping his beer, glancing across at the unassuming accountant. Vaughn watched him with a peculiar intensity that he would never have expected from the little guy.

“Tagged him in the neck.”

“No shit.”

“He had a hostage. It made the shot tricky.”

“So he bled out?”

“Something like that. But I was ready to put another in his skull when he was on the floor. Couldn’t leave him that way, regardless of what he tried to do,” Axton shook his head. “I bet Jack would have preferred I did.”

Vaughn stiffened.

“Jack? Handsome Jack?”

“Yeah.”

“He saw it?”

“Yeah. I mean, the guy was targeting him…”

“Right. Right…”

Axton frowned, dropping his eyes to his beer. Vaughn seemed nice enough, but he was peculiarly on edge with his presence. The awkwardness at having been left alone with him was palpable, to say the least. But _why—_

“Uh, hey, Alex?”

Rubbing the back of his neck, Vaughn gazed around the bar quickly before leaning conspiratorially across the table. “Just, uh…maybe be careful. With Rhys, I mean.”

“Hey, don’t worry darlin,’” Axton schooled his reaction, instead offering a warm smile. “I’m not looking to break hearts here.”

Vaughn flinched. “That’s not really what I—”

“Okay,” Rhys huffed, appearing out of nowhere. “I ran into Wallethead in the bathroom. It is _definitely_ time for more shots.”

Axton managed to stand in time to prevent a repeat of Rhys climbing over his lap, much as he’d enjoyed it the first time. Yvette returned shortly after, carrying an apology round that she dispersed amongst the group. And just like that, it was as if nothing had happened — _whatever_ had happened — and the crew returned to their easy banter.

After a couple hours of swapping tales of ridiculous encounters in Helios, Axton was well and truly wasted. He motioned toward Rhys, pressing their knees together, and the other man reciprocated by leaning into his shoulder.

“Hey,” Axton murmured. “Got the time on that spiffy hand a’ yours?”

Rhys grinned sharply his way before activating his cybernetics. At the same time, his eye lit up, and Axton found himself staring tipsily into the alluring blue. But as Rhys lost himself in whatever displayed in his HUD, his smile faded.

“It’s uh,” he glanced again at Axton, but the previously content mood was gone. “It’s about one.”

“Everything okay, Rhys?” Vaughn asked warily from across the table.

“I gotta get going,” Rhys shrugged in response. “Looks like I’ve got a lot on my plate for tomorrow.”

Seizing the chance — wait, what chance? — Axton sat up.

“I’ll go too,” he hummed, shuffling free from the booth. “I gotta be at work at oh-five hundred anyway.”

Yvette paled. “Oh. Uh. Sorry for all the shots, then…”

“Pretty sure I’m gonna throw up the moment I get to my room,” he smirked. “So no worries.”

Yvette laughed; Vaughn grinned weakly his way.

“Thanks for letting me crash your party though,” he nodded. “It was great meeting you both.”

“Oh, come back any time,” Yvette wiggled her finely groomed eyebrows. “By all means.”

“Leaving now!” Rhys announced, and Axton turned to see he had already started to stumble toward the exit. “Until next time, bros.”

_“Alex—”_

Vaughn’s hand snagged onto Axton’s wrist; he gazed back with an inquisitive look, stomach lurching at the sudden direction shift.

“Just…take care, okay?”

_With Rhys._ But the words went unsaid.

“You can trust me, pal,” Axton nodded. “Off the clock, I’m a teddy bear.”

He missed the look of unease that Vaughn passed him, instead offering a wave before he turned to track down the already missing Rhys.

* * *

Before long, Axton found himself in an elevator. He groaned his displeasure at the discovery, wondering at the disappearance of the last five minutes before glancing over to confirm that Rhys had also made it inside the car. And despite the queasy dance in his stomach, and the concern about the following morning, Axton found that for the first time since he had arrived on Helios, he was nearly perfectly content. It was almost easy to forget all the expectations and risks hanging over his head.

Blinking stupidly toward the ceiling, he let himself drift backward. So maybe this wasn't so bad. At least with friends like these. Like _Rhys._

“That… was the most fun I’ve had in a while. Thanks so much for coming out, Alex.”

Axton swayed against the wall; his expression shifted into an affectionate smile as he turned to watch the man opposite. Rhys was similarly out of sorts, sunk in the corner of the elevator with a lazy grin plastered across his face. The display was so utterly adorable that Axton felt his hands twitch with peculiar intent.

“Hey, been meaning to ask…”

Rhys shuffled forward across the elevator; Axton’s hands came up to steady the staggering man. He smirked at a sudden wobble, then lifted his hand to gently nudge a finger across Axton’s brow. The heat of his touch set the sensation in Axton’s stomach to overdrive.

“What happened here?”

Axton raised an arm to inspect the skin where Rhys prodded him. He slipped from Rhys’ hand to his forehead, brushing along the tiny, barely noticeable scar that was all that remained of his rank marker. Feeling flush with regret, a quiet mourning for its loss, Axton briefly glanced away.

“A mistake,” he hummed, unsure of what else to offer. “Just yet another regret from my past.”

Rhys’ expression twisted. His hand dropped to gently cradle Axton’s arm.

“I know what those are like.”

Swallowing hard, Axton tried desperately to fight the chaotic swirling in his skull, allowing his eyes to trace their way across Rhys’ relaxed face. Trying, and failing, as he stepped forward to press into his space. Before he knew it, his nose nudged against the corner of Rhys’ jawline; he brought a hand up to palm his cheek. Rhys stiffened beneath him, stare edging wide as he backed into the wall.

Hands came up to grip his shirt. Axton, feeling encouraged, leaned forward to set his lips against the corner of Rhys’ chin. He smelled _good._ Better than anyone should after a night of drinking.

“Alex,” Rhys whimpered. “I—”

“Ax,” he murmured, swiping his tongue along Rhys’ earlobe. “Call me ‘Ax.’”

_“Alex.”_

Rhys used the enhanced strength of his cybernetic arm to push Axton back; he stumbled in surprise. The younger man watched him with a frightened gaze, shuddering as he further shrank into the corner. A vicious pulse of unease shot through Axton at the look on Rhys’ face, a realization of what he'd done, but quickly noticed Rhys making careful glances to the corner of the elevator. Axton followed his gaze, hesitating on the camera that monitored the tight space.

“I…” Axton’s brain at last caught up with his dick. He faltered, face blank with shock. “Shit, Rhys. I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean—”

The younger man had initially seemed afraid of the exchange, which was troubling enough. But the look Rhys gave him now was somewhere between pity and regret, and it left Axton feeling particularly ill.

“I’m sorry, Alex…” he muttered. “It’s not that. I just… _I can’t.”_

Axton rubbed at the back of his neck, trying to shake off the sting of rejection.

“I understand,” he sighed, putting what distance he could between them in the cramped elevator. “I’m really sorry, Rhys. I’m pretty wasted. S’all it is, I promise.”

The hint of a smile flickered in Rhys’ expression, but he said nothing. An awkward, heavy quiet blanketed the pair, and they stayed at opposite ends of the elevator car for the duration of the ride. When it at last came to a halt, and the doors slid open, Rhys seemed to warily eye the threshold.

“…please don’t blame yourself for this,” Rhys murmured. “It’s my fault.”

“Rhys—”

“Good night, Alex.” Smiling, Rhys lifted a hand to his shoulder. “Remember to drink lots of water, okay?”

The door slid shut, leaving Axton alone in a deafening silence. He remained there for several minutes, barely noticing that he had forgotten to punch in his own floor, and simply rested with his attention on the door as his stomach begged for relief.

What the hell was he doing? How had he misread things so badly? And how the hell had he forgotten why he was on Helios in the first place?

This was a mission, not a damn vacation. And Rhys had been a distraction. A nice one, but now Axton’s romantic heart was getting in the way. And while it was tempting to chase feelings he hadn’t felt in years, it was all pointless in the long run. Even after his work here was done, they couldn’t be together. In fact, with Rhys’ deeply ingrained love for Hyperion, he would likely despise Axton before the end.

That was, if he didn’t already, with the night’s events.

After some time, Axton seemed to notice the car yet lingered at the same floor where Rhys had departed, and leaned forward to stab a button. He then sank back into the corner, hands plastered across his face as his intoxicated brain forced him to relive the interaction over and over.

Well, shit. What else could go wrong?


	4. Well...Shit.

Apparently, there was a _lot_ left to go wrong. But it wasn’t until the following morning, when Axton was quietly trailing in Cade’s shadow on the floor of his newly assigned position that the full betrayal came to light. And as he stood in place, begging for his hangover to stop rocketing painfully through his skull and doing everything in his power to avoid thinking about the incident with Rhys in the elevator, he could do little but stare in muted loathing as the door before them opened to reveal a very unimpressed looking Handsome Jack.

“Cade,” Jack grunted in greeting, leaning into the doorframe. His appearance was almost disarming; his mask sagged with disinterested fatigue, and his hair, while still _on point,_ was a little untamed, as though he had only just awoken. “What do you want?”

“We’re here for the sweep we discussed, sir,” Cade nodded. “And Harkon here will be taking first post.”

“Harkon?” Jack glanced incredulously toward Axton, an eyebrow raised.

“Alex Harkon. Yes, sir.”

“Hell kind of name is that.”

“It’s mine, sir.”

Jack’s eyes narrowed. “Well, aren’t you turning out to be a one-dimensional character.”

Axton stiffened, but did his best to school his expression, tempted though he was by Jack’s very punchable face. The bitter twist of loathing he felt at Jack’s indifference was particularly confusing, mostly because Axton had no real intent of holding the man’s attention more than he already had, and so it shouldn’t have affected him in the least. Perhaps it just went to show Handsome Jack’s natural charisma and his command over the station, that even an undercover merc could be irritated to be passed over so nonchalantly.

“Remind me why we’re doing this?” Jack snapped, having turned his icy stare back on Cade.

“The elevated threat, sir,” Cade gestured to the tablet in his hands. “We have reason to believe there’s a heightened risk of attacks from—”

“Yes, okay, fine, I _know,”_ Jack waved his hand dramatically. “Tell me why my turrets aren’t sufficient? Or the laser grids? Or why this fine _human_ specimen is standing here instead of a Hyperion Loader Bot?”

“Machines are too susceptible to manipulation by—”

“Argh, _alriiiight,”_ Jack interrupted Cade again, relenting with a sigh. Axton internally winced at the action, wishing Jack would have _let the man talk_ so that he might absorb any information that hadn’t been passed down to his level. But instead, Jack stepped out of the way and motioned for them to enter. Axton obediently moved past, keeping his head forward upon noticing Jack’s not-so-subtle attempt to check out his ass as he stepped into the hallway. “Could be worse, I guess.”

“Where would you like me, sir?”

Immediately regretting the choice words, Axton grimaced, and Jack treated him to a sharp smirk in response. But for whatever baffling reason, he seemed to resist his opportunity at sly innuendo, merely indicating for him to follow.

“Cade, do your thing. And you — _Harkon —_ anywhere in the main area is fine. It’s a pretty open layout, so just pick a spot with a wide sight line. Stay out of my office and the bedroom. Oh—” Jack faltered upon the transition from the foyer into the living room, leaning in to speak with a hushed voice. “—and ignore _him_. He’s being a sourpuss.”

“I _heard_ that.”

Axton tore himself away from scanning the expansive, opulent living space to glance toward the source of the familiar voice, the man lingering at the bar that bordered the kitchen. Their eyes met, and Axton froze, bristling in recognition. The other man reacted less casually, dropping the spoon from his hand in surprise. It clattered noisily to the floor, and still, neither of them moved.

“Rhysie, get your shit together,” Jack snorted.

“I, uh…”

Axton straightened under Rhys’ gaze, blinking away the initial shock. Jack left him there, crossing to the younger man’s side to press a hand to his lower back. Axton did his best not to react as he watched Handsome Jack _nuzzle his nose against the shell of Rhys’ ear._

Oh. _Oh._

Oh, _shit._

 _“Kitten…_ Is having a hunky bodyguard gonna cause problems for us?”

“What?” Rhys snapped, ripping his eyes away from Axton to glare at Jack. “No, Jack, _shut up_.”

 _Look away, you idiot,_ Axton chided inwardly. _Do something. Anything._

But Axton was at a loss for words, or any kind of appropriate behaviour. Rhys was the last person he ever expected to find in Handsome Jack’s living quarters, much less _speaking_ to him the way he did. Their banter was bizarrely affectionate, and it left a strange void in Axton’s chest. He realized idly, desperately, that his gaze had fallen and locked onto the place where Jack’s hand rested on Rhys’ hip.

“You sure?” Jack smirked. He drew behind Rhys, pressing his chest against his back. Axton watched Jack’s hands smooth around Rhys’ waist, tugging him closer, when he noticed with a sick punch to the heart that Jack was looking back at him. In some frantic bid for normalcy, he swallowed hard, forcing his face to remain blank at the sound of Jack’s throaty chuckle. “Because if you were thinkin’ _threesome…”_

 _“Jack.”_ Rhys pried Jack’s hands up to turn around in his arms. “Don’t change the subject. I’m not finished with—”

“Yeah, yeah, I know,” Jack rolled his eyes with a groan. “And I’m _sorry_ , kiddo. It’s just not the right time.”

“Don’t _call_ me that, Jack.” Rhys whimpered; Axton winced at the familiar pet name. “And this was the _only_ time… You _promised.”_

“Rhysie, you know how much I’d love to take you to Aquator,” Jack had moved away from Rhys, but his hand annoyingly lingered on his flank. “Always wanted to do you in the ocean, after all.”

Finally unable to restrain his expression, Axton sharply spun in place to cover his grimace. He turned instead to an expansive set of windows lining a full wall of the living room, which provided a rather stellar view of the galaxy beyond. A brilliant myriad of stars dotted the endless darkness, and Axton could but hovered in quiet agony, hollowly staring at Pandora’s shape far below as the couple behind him continued to bicker.

“C’mon, babe. With the security risk, it’s just not safe right now.”

“I know…” Rhys mumbled. “But it was important to me.”

Jack’s voice softened; Axton almost tilted his head to listen despite himself. “What’s really bugging you, kitten?”

“I barely see you anymore.”

The tone of Rhys’ voice was heartbreaking enough that it seemed to propel Axton into movement. He shifted, moving slowly along the windows, busying himself with tracing the floorboards beneath his feet. The seamless transition of hexagonal tiles into hardwood was fairly impressive, if not distracting enough to hold his attention for a few seconds. But following this, he stared blindly as he moved, yet absorbed with the chaos in his peripherals. Both Handsome Jack and Rhys seemed to have forgotten he was there, and Axton winced when he noticed Jack had pulled the younger man back into his arms, tugging him close to his frame. The embrace was sickeningly affectionate, something that left Axton particularly bemused.

“I know, Rhysie. I’ve been too busy. I miss you, too.”

“And we haven’t been to Athenas in a while…it’s important that—”

“I _know.”_ Jack repeated, voice dipping with a non threatening growl. “Trust me…I know. And we’ll figure it out, kitten. Soon.”

“Bug sweep is clean.”

Cade appeared in the mouth of a nearby hallway, cutting a path through the tension that had settled over the room. Axton blanched; he had been so caught up in his emotions that he hadn’t even noticed Cade had disappeared at all. His boss strode back toward where the kitchen bar split the open space in two, hesitating as he nodded toward Jack. “I’d like to run a check on your security systems, but I know you won’t—”

 _“I_ coded those systems, cupcake,” Jack snorted. “They’re impenetrable.”

“And _you’re_ insufferable,” Rhys chided. “Have you ever let Arley finish a damn sentence?”

“Kitten… _Language.”_

“Whatever gets us through this, I suppose,” Cade chuckled. “But I appreciate the sentiment, Rhys.”

Axton eased back, amazed that he was yet fully in awe of the exchange, having barely had a moment to pick his jaw up off the floor since they had arrived at the penthouse. Jack was still, well — Handsome Jack — but to experience the casual banter between the group rocked Axton on his heels. He was almost jovial, markedly at ease compared to how he presented himself the rest of the time. Axton imagined that the rest of Helios was rightfully too afraid of Jack to get familiar enough to even talk to him, much less take the piss out of him, but this was still. different somehow. Even the barbs he’d traded with Nisha hadn’t been so friendly.

This was _domestic_ Jack. And it was a little unnerving to witness.

“You’ve turned him against me, Rhysie,” Jack exasperated. He finally, _finally,_ moved away from Rhys, reaching out to grip Cade’s shoulder. “Come on, then. Let’s get the rest of this over with.”

The two disappeared down a nearby hallway, presumably to Jack’s office, and with a startling realization, Axton noticed that he and Rhys were very suddenly alone. Stifling a shiver, he moved to a nearby wall, allowing his eyes to drift across the abstract art hung there. He attempted to lose himself in the piece, genuinely surprised that it wasn’t some propaganda piece of Handsome Jack, but Rhys had other intentions.

“So.”

Axton stiffened, but did not otherwise move.

“…so.”

“You have questions, I imagine?”

With a shaky exhale, Axton lowered his head. At the sound of nearby movement, he at last turned to see Rhys had left the kitchen to sink down into the circular couch that took up most of the centre of the room. He tucked his long legs up onto the seat as he pulled a blanket around his shoulders, all the while staring across at Axton.

And for a moment, Axton gave him a long, mournful stare, reaching for any feasible response.

“…you live here.”

Axton winced as the words tumbled from his lips. Rhys smirked.

“That wasn’t a question.”

“I have a _million_ questions,” Axton admitted. “But I don’t think…”

Rhys caught the glance that Axton sent in the direction that Jack had disappeared, nodding his understanding.

“…my relationship with Jack doesn’t really come up in casual conversation,” he uttered, keeping his voice low. “I'm forced to keep parts of my life secret. But if you feel like I deceived you, I apologize…”

 _Deceived_ was used in lieu of _led on,_ and it didn’t sting any less.

“No,” Axton lied. “You have nothing to apologize for.”

Rhys opened his mouth, then paused. He shrugged, seemingly deflated, and Axton rubbed the back of his neck.

“Don’t worry... This doesn’t change anything.”

The gentle smile on Rhys’ face did troubling things to Axton’s heart. And while the silence stretched and yawned between them, Axton finally seemed to remember himself. His stomach curled with regret at the memory of the previous night’s events. He recalled Rhys’ terrified glance toward the elevator’s camera, and it suddenly all made sense.

Rhys had always been cavalier about the Helios lifestyle, while retaining a pro-Hyperion sentiment. He was naturally confident wherever he was on the station, almost like he owned the place. And there was also the heavy look he had carried with him following the attempt on Jack’s life. This was the behaviour of the person that could only be Handsome Jack’s partner. But it had been such an impossibility in Axton’s mind that he had never even considered it in the first place.

Axton was tempted to feel a hint of relief, that his rejection hadn’t fully been motivated by Rhys’ disinterest in him, but at the same time, he couldn’t deny the shame at having been so forward, without having stopped to _ask._

“Rhys,” he hummed. “I’m really sorry about last—”

“Don’t.”

Axton raised his head, eyes wide at the sudden change in Rhys’ disposition. This time, it was Rhys’ turn to glance in the direction Jack had gone, shaking his head in warning. 

“Seriously. Don’t. _Ever.”_

A very real chill went down his back. Axton adjusted his grip on his rifle, carefully scanning the look on Rhys’ face. He seemed at ease, despite the brief punch of concern, but he lived with _Handsome Jack,_ for fuck’s sake. How relaxed could he be?

“Anyway.” Rhys abruptly stood, letting the blanket fall from his lean frame. “I should show you around.”

Axton stiffened at the abrupt shift in demeanour. He wondered absently if he’d need a neck brace for emotional whiplash by the time the day was done.

The rest of the penthouse was just as extravagent. A glass staircase to the second floor led to a pretty fantastic personal gym, next to which was Rhys’ office. He’d taken care in decorating; the fully lined bookshelves held various succulents, an elaborate holodesk boasted some impressive tech, and there was even a cozy nook complete with blankets, pillows, and a small window peeking out into space. Axton briefly pictured Rhys cuddled up there with a book on a lazy Sunday, drifting off between chapters.

The second hallway on the main floor was short, leading past a bathroom that Rhys pointed out for him to use. Other than a brief, awkward moment when Rhys ushered him past the closed door to the master bedroom, there wasn’t much else to see beyond a linen closet and a cozy home theatre. There was another room with its door closed, but Rhys ignored it, so Axton, too, paid it little attention as they headed back to the main living space.

Axton had to admit his favourite feature was the open layout concept of the main living space. The kitchen had a very industrial look, with white brick inlaid behind black granite countertops. In the living room, the rounded couches were set into the floor, requiring one to step down into them, and at the centre of the comfortable arrangement was a simple fireplace, where a long, tall vent hung down from the ceiling high above. The island bar that separated the space from the living room served as the only eating area, with a set of barstools lining the side where Rhys had left his spoon on the floor.

He bent to retrieve it as they passed by, and Axton averted his gaze.

The only doorway in the other hallway led to Jack’s office. Axton burned with interest, keen to see what such a sight looked like, wondering if it was lined with statues or imagery of Handsome Jack like the rest of Helios. But he had already been surprised to take note that the rest of the penthouse was devoid of such things, beyond a few sickeningly sweet snapshots of Rhys and Jack looking very much like a couple. The question that remained, however, was if the simple but opulent design of the place was the work of Jack, or if Rhys had been behind it all.

A thought that yet again led him back to that nauseating disbelief over the fact that Rhys _lived_ here. With _Handsome Jack._

When they at last returned to the living room, Rhys shrugged shyly, as if sensing Axton’s continued incredulity. He paused at a bar stool, setting his spoon into the cereal bowl on the counter.

“…I know this is strange,” he swallowed, avoiding Axton’s stare. “And if you’d prefer to be reassigned, I can make it happen without consequence…”

Axton seriously considered the offer, but quickly remembered himself.

“Rhys…” he sighed. “That’s not necessary.”

“But I—”

Ducking his head forward, Axton made sure to catch Rhys’ gaze. He hovered at a respectful distance, but Rhys yet wavered at the proximity.

“I know what you need, Rhys. I won’t say a word. And I promise not to make things awkward. I read into things when I shouldn’t have, and that’s on me. I don’t want you to be uncomfortable in your own home.”

He wasn’t certain how much of that even he believed, but his intentions were honest. And he had to admit — he couldn't have asked for a better position in terms of assisting the Crimson Raiders.

“I…” Rhys visibly sagged, but offered a smile. “Okay, sure.”

“How about this.”

Axton raised a hand, and Rhys mutely stared at it in question.

“Let’s start over.”

Something imperceptible flashed behind Rhys’ eyes. He lifted his head, as if to study Axton’s face, and then his cybernetic hand appeared in his grip.

“Hello,” he smirked. “I’m Rhys. I live here with Jack. I guess you’ll be around for a while?”

For the first time since Axton had arrived that morning, his smile was genuine. He shook Rhys’ hand, ignoring the flush of heat in his chest.

“Hey, Rhys,” he murmured. “I’m here to protect you.”

* * *

“So. How’d your first day go?”

Axton’s eyes hung on the elevator panel where he had been silently watching the floor number as it counted down, as though it represented the seconds before he collapsed beneath the weight of the day. He had been standing rigidly at Cade’s side, forcing himself with some difficulty to maintain his straight posture, and had to pause for a painful amount of time as he searched for the best response.

Because really, _what the fuck._

“…interesting,” he eventually supplied. “Unexpected.”

“It’s a glorified babysitting gig,” Cade nodded his understanding. Axton schooled his reaction at the very obvious look of pity he spied on his boss’ face out of the corner of his eye. “Not what you signed up for, I’m sure.”

“I am a security officer, sir,” Axton sighed. “This is security.”

“That’s a good attitude,” Cade grunted. “But don’t give me that crap, kid. Tell me what you think.”

“…it was…” Axton tilted his head in consideration. “Not at all what I anticipated.”

Cade grinned sharply before patting him on the shoulder. “It was Rhys, wasn’t it?”

Something very cold, very uncertain flickered through Axton’s chest. He lifted his chin, fighting to restrain his concerns while Cade seemed to stare right through him.

“Sorry, sir?”

“With Jack,” Cade elaborated. “Few people see that side of him. It always proves to be…surprising.”

Axton very subtly let out his sigh of relief. “Yes…that was…”

“You’ll get used to it. And I think you’ll like Rhys. He actually keeps Jack’s behaviour in check. It’s always easier to deal with Jack when Rhys is at his side.”

Okay, so it wasn’t just the elevator that was sending his stomach for a loop. The emotional rollercoaster Cade was forcing Axton through had him almost wanting to lean forward and give into whatever remnants of his hangover still clung to him.

“He seems nice,” was all he said.

“So—” Cade retrieved his tablet from his hip, tapping across its surface with quick movements. “Expect the same thing tomorrow, but you’re on the night shift going forward. You’ll continue this for an indefinite period until we can sort out more bodies that Jack will approve. For now, you will be splitting the days with Mulaney. Any questions?”

“No, sir. Understood.”

“Okay, good. Now — any _questions?”_

Axton angled his head just enough to study the lines of Cade’s expression. Cade was not a bullshitter — it was very doubtful he would throw Axton under the bus for any honest curiosities. But still, given his precarious position, he was having trouble sorting through what he _needed_ to ask, and what he _should_ ask.

“I guess I’m wondering how you convinced Jack to take on a security detail,” he hummed, deciding to lob a softball. “I always suspected he had his own team?”

_According to Roland, anyway._

“Oh, he does,” Cade replied. “They’re all around somewhere. But Wilhelm is out of commission for now. And let’s just say Nisha has her own grudges.”

“I could tell,” Axton murmured with a nod. “Is she still on Helios?”

“I believe so. But don’t expect to see her at the penthouse.”

The elevator slowed to a stop. Axton followed close behind in stepping out into the expansive space of the Hub of Heroism, but Cade quickly turned back to face him.

“If I can offer anything—” Cade started, scanning over his face. “Stay professional. And keep your distance.”

Axton went still, again feeling a rush of nausea. “Sir?”

Cade made the point of stepping into his space, lowering his voice to a near whisper.

“There are few people that Handsome Jack would put before his own interests. _Very_ few. But one of them is in that penthouse.”

For the second time that day, Axton was wordless, stunned by awe over the situation. To be fair, the only basis for the opinion he had formed of Jack was that of what the Crimson Raiders told him, and the Hyperion propaganda videos, both of which painted him as an arrogant, selfish man.

But when he had held Rhys in his arms…the way he pulled him close…

“And I don’t imagine I need to repeat myself regarding discretion?” Cade had returned to his normal demeanour, all business. Axton briefly recalled the NDA he’d signed that morning, realizing now it had meant a little more than accidental glimpses of Hyperion secrets. _Keep Rhys a secret._

He offered a curt nod, straightening his back. “No, sir. I understand.”

“Good.” Cade moved back, seeming to scrutinize Axton for another moment. “That’s good. A fine job today, Harkon. Keep this up and you’ll see a promotion in no time.”

“What duty is greater than protecting Handsome Jack himself, sir?” Axton offered, trying desperately not to choke on the words. Cade smirked, again patting his shoulder.

“I like the spirit, but reel it in, kid. Jack hates brown nosers.”

Axton’s ECHO device chirped. Flinching, he avoided checking it, fearing a very familiar message would pop up, but at Cade’s encouraging gesture, he lifted the device from his hip. Surprisingly, it was not Rhys who had messaged, but Vaughn.

“Oh,” he breathed his confusion. “Okay.”

“I’ll let you get going,” Cade smiled. “Just make sure you get some rest. Oh, and, Alex?”

Cade had already begun moving away, but paused long enough to give him a pointed look.

“Sir?”

“Don’t show up with a hangover next time.”

_Shit._

“No, sir. Sorry, sir.”

* * *

  
  
Axton found Yvette and Vaughn in the very same booth they’d been in the night before. Rhys was noticeably absent, but he quickly spotted a beer awaiting him, perspiring in a cool glass. He nodded his thanks to his newfound friends as he sank into place, reaching to drag his fingers along the moisture slicked pint. After downing a long, heavy swallow before dropping it onto the table, he sank backward into the booth, at last allowing his shoulders to sag.

“Thank you,” he murmured. Yvette reached forward to brush his hand.

“You’re welcome,” she smiled softly. “So...Rhys told us the news. How’d it go?”

Axton opened his mouth. He closed it, staring at the table under his hands, lost in the faux wood grain texture. At his lack of response, Vaughn visibly winced. He tried to hide it behind his own drink, averting his gaze, but his own discomfort was palpable, something that Axton oddly appreciated. It finally dawned on him that Vaughn’s peculiar behaviour the night previous should have been a warning. And now, they shared a mutual disdain for the whole mess.

“I’m sorry, bro,” he muttered. “I tried to tell you.”

“You did,” Axton nodded. “But…I mean—”

“How could you see it coming?” Yvette offered. “Even for us, it still feels impossible sometimes.”

Axton wavered, then leaned forward onto his elbows. Tempting as it was to order a round of shots, to recreate the previous night, he remembered with heavy regret that he still had to go back the next day.

“Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” Axton grimaced. “Still coming to terms, I suppose.”

“Well, take your ti—”

“How did they meet?” he interrupted. He was fully aware that he wasn’t exactly masking the desperation in his question, but it was desperation all the same.

“Totally by chance,” Vaughn snorted. “Jack happened to drop in on Rhys’ old department for a surprise inspection. I think he was looking to _dispatch_ a few useless employees that day, if you get my drift.”

“And Rhys, like the total badass he _isn’t,_ stood up to defend a project that had fallen behind schedule,” Yvette continued. "He went toe to toe with Jack, and somehow didn’t get a bullet in his skull.”

Axton sank back in disbelief. “No shit. So what happened?”

“Jack walked out, but Rhys definitely left an impression on him. Later on, Jack tracked him down to his apartment, and apparently he was _pissed,”_ Yvette’s face twisted with delight. “Strode right in with a pistol, pinned him to the wall... And it somehow ended up with Rhys dry humping him into submission on the couch.”

“By the time I walked in, _Jack_ was definitely the one in control,” Vaughn pressed a hand to his face. Axton’s lip began to curl ever slightly, but he restrained the impulse. “At least they had clothes on. But I still had that couch incinerated afterward.”

“And that was it,” Yvette shrugged. “I swear, Rhys is like catnip for Handsome Jack. He adores him.”

The words _adore_ and _Handsome Jack_ did not belong in the same sentence. Axton again turned his gaze toward the table in bitter denial.

“And now they _live_ together,” he murmured.

“Jack insisted,” Vaughn groaned. “He keeps him pretty close. I swear, if it wasn’t for Rhys’ stubborn streak, Jack wouldn’t have let him keep working, much less hanging out with us.”

“Even though that doesn’t happen as often anymore,” Yvette sighed.

“Again — _Jack.”_

Vaughn’s expression twitched with anger, something that left Axton equally stunned.

“Vaughn…?”

“He’s a bit sore,” Yvette explained. “Rhys and Vaughn were pretty close before this.”

“I’ll never understand why Rhys chose him, of all people,” Vaughn threw his hands up in the air. “I mean, did you see him last night? How happy he was? With us? With Alex? Why couldn’t—”

“He _is_ happy with Jack, Vaughn…”

“Is he? How often does he complain about—”

“Relationships are _complicated,”_ Yvette snapped. “Everyone complains! And neither of them are perfect. You’re putting all the blame on Jack because he’s, well — _Handsome Jack —_ but don’t forget you’re only seeing this from the perspective of Rhys’ best friend.”

“That’s…” Vaughn dropped back into his seat, grumbling discontentedly. “Fair, damn it.”

Axton stared at his beer, using his finger tip to draw random shapes into the side of the glass. He realized then that he was almost forcing himself to dwell, to hold on to the gross feeling that the day’s revelations left swirling in his gut. Because when he stopped mourning the potential of _him_ and _Rhys,_ he would have to eventually remember why he was actually there.

And what he was _meant_ to be doing.

“You’ll have to forgive Rhys,” Yvette hummed. “For leading you on.”

Axton lifted his head, eyes wide.

“Does he?” Vaughn barked. “His situation isn’t an excuse for his behaviour.”

“No,” Yvette passed Vaughn an impatient look. “I didn’t mean to forgive him because he’s feeling neglected and is behaving like a _tool._ I mean he’ll have to forgive him if he still wants to be his friend… Because Rhys is Rhys. He’s got his own shit. So you either decide to forgive him and move on, or walk away.”

Closing his eyes, Axton sank back into the seat.

“I did,” he murmured. “Forgive him, I mean. You’re right — nobody's perfect, I can attest to that.”

Axton reached for the necklace that was not there, and the diamond that once hung against his chest, but now rested somewhere in a loot box down on Pandora. 

“So you’re sticking around?”

“Of course. No where else to go, really.”

“I’m glad,” Vaughn smiled. “I think you’ll be good for Rhys. And hey, maybe you’ll remind him what a _normal_ guy is like, and he’ll fall for you instead.”

Yvette smacked Vaughn across the head; Axton chuckled.

“Maybe, Vaughn,” he grinned into his beer, but it faded as the idea seemed to take root. “...maybe.”


	5. I'm Not Jealous

Fingertips threaded through his hair, stroking gently against his scalp. Axton moaned at the sensation, eyes fluttering closed at the unintentional massage, as a week’s worth of tension slipped free beneath the touch. He paused briefly, surrendering to the heady, delirious feeling, swallowing hard against the heat and the desire and the vicious pulse in his cock. And when the hand at the back of his head found purchase, gripping painfully and snapping his head backward, he almost came in an instant, thrusting sharply upward in response.

“Fuck,” Nisha hissed, biting at her lower lip in concentration. “Oh, good boy. That’s—”

Her free hand stroked up his sweat slicked chest, slipping along his collarbone before coming to a rest on his shoulder. She pressed him back against the headboard, using his solid frame for stability as she ground down on his hips. Axton’s hands twitched with intent, reaching uselessly to gain purchase on her thighs, but the restraints on his wrists held him back. He wanted to turn her, pin her down, thrust punishingly into her from above, but she’d had different plans from the start.

And personally, he was _loving_ it. The sheriff’s hat worked for him on a few levels, especially given it was the only thing she left on as she attempted to ride him to death. But despite the cuffs holding him back, he gave as well as he got, digging his heels into the mattress to aid the rhythmic movements that met Nisha’s rocking frame. She leaned forward, lips parted and tongue tracing the back of her teeth, angling her clit against his pelvic bone for firm, apparently _wonderful_ friction.

“Damn it, Alex,” she moaned. “If only I had brought my whip…”

Axton responded with a smirk, leaning forward as much as he was allowed to catch her nipple in his lips. Nisha exhaled sharply in surprise, before angling into his space as if to provide better access. He flicked his tongue against her nipple, then laved around the areola before sucking gently at the hardening nub. Nisha’s hands both moved to the back of his head, forcing him into place, and her pace against his cock hastened.

“Shit,” she breathed. “Almost there.”

Almost grunting his relief, Axton remained focused on her chest, putting his own nearing climax out of mind. He brushed his face between her breasts as he alternated to the other nipple, leaving the first looking swollen and dripping with saliva. The muscles of her slick on his cock flexed, tightened, and he had to force self control, though the mounting pressure was increasing beyond his limits. And as Nisha took her pleasure in a thrilling act of dominance over his larger, dense frame, he could do little but toss his head back, and promise himself he was picturing her, only her, as he pressed upward past her heated folds.

Nisha’s body seized; her back arched and a small _‘oh’_ escaped her lips as her thighs clenched around his hips. Axton cursed in response, feeling his own release in successive, heavy spurts. She folded over him, pressing her hands into the bedspread on each side of his head, and they panted heavily in the aftermath of their simultaneous orgasm.

“Well, damn, soldier,” she hummed. “I’m glad I stuck around.”

Axton smirked, feeling a swell of ego even as his cock twitched in satisfaction. And as Nisha took the barest moment to release his cuffs, and ease herself off of his hips, he remained in place, heartbeat racing, left with only enough energy to strip off his condom.

“I definitely needed that,” he grunted, glancing sideways at Nisha where she crawled to the edge of the bed to root around in her discarded duster. “Thanks.”

She laughed, eyeing his prone form over her shoulder, and shrugged.

“Not enough of my men in Lynchwood look like _you,_ sweet stuff,” she nodded. “Had to get my fill before I went home.”

Feeling smug, Axton spared her a wink. “Was that your fill?”

She reached back, giving his softening cock a squeeze, and Axton grunted at the sting of pain and desire. “Not even close.”

Axton allowed his head to sink back into the pillow, rubbing absentmindedly at his wrists. He’d been surprised when he had woken to Nisha’s ECHO message, but nonetheless pleased when she arrived at his door, dangling the cuffs in his face. Few words were said, as Axton’s ego had been left quietly suffering from the past couple days, and _demanded_ immediate action. His thick hands tugged her inside by the waist, and it wasn’t long before she had wrestled him into submission.

He normally preferred the dominant role, but _shit,_ who was he to turn her down? Nisha was _meant_ to be on top, and damn if she didn’t look good doing it. It made it all easier to forget…

Axton squeezed his eyes shut tight, lip curling at the nudge of intrusive thoughts. _Fuck. Off._

“I mean, I knew you soldier types were about the Spartan worship, but hell, Alex, you take it to an extreme.”

Thankful for the distraction, Axton followed Nisha’s gaze, passing a disinterested glance around the blank tableau that was his studio apartment. There wasn’t a thing out of place, as he had few possessions to begin with, and every surface was, well, _bare._ _Not staying long, am I?_ Instead of the truth, he offered a shrug, sitting up to drop his feet to the floor.

“I’ll get a plant maybe,” he smirked. “Or a _swing.”_

The newly found cigarette in Nisha’s fingers did not quite make it to her lips; she gave him a heavy look before her expression twisted with a smile.

“You’re a thinker, aren’t you?” she mused. “You sure you wanna stay? Plenty of room down in Lynchwood. In my bed, specifically.”

“Tempting,” Axton nodded, eyes slipping up and down Nisha’s nude frame. _“Very_ tempting. But I’m afraid I’d be leaving the crew high and dry up here, and that just don’t play.”

“Oh, you’re a generous soul then, hm?” Nisha snorted, rolling her eyes before pressing the cigarette to her mouth and flicking at her lighter. “I mean, it can’t possibly be that you like your new assignment.”

Axton froze. He lifted his head slowly, only to be rewarded with a tight grin from the beauty sitting with her fine, bare ass against his bedside table. 

“Uh—”

“Or maybe Jack’s giving you something I can’t offer?” she hummed, eyebrow quirked. “I can get a toy, if that would help?”

Quiet, subtle fury roiled within Axton’s chest; he dropped his gaze immediately to the floor, tamping it down.

“…it’s not about Jack,” he insisted with a hiss.

“Oh,” Nisha tilted her head. “Rhys then. That makes sense.”

Something not unlike heavy concern punched Axton in the chest.

 _“What_ makes sense?”

“There’s something about that twink,” Nisha growled, waving her cigarette through the air. “As soon as he sees something he wants, he gets it, no matter who stands in his way.”

“Shit,” Axton sank back, catching the chance to avert the attention from himself. “You’re _jealous.”_

“I’m—” Nisha’s face contorted with anger. “I’m not _jealous._ I’m _pissed._ I had a good thing going here before that kid showed up.”

“Is Jack _that_ good in bed?”

“You bet your ass he is. He’s also markedly easier to manipulate once he’s gotten his rocks off.”

Axton wavered, caught somewhere between amusement, disgust, and lingering regret.

“Are you telling me, that you of all people couldn’t strut your way past Rhys and back into Jack’s bedroom?” he asked, rubbing at his jaw in a desperate bid to distract himself from the bitterness his question left in his mouth.

“Sweetheart.” Nisha moved forward, pressing her hand to his thigh as she blew smoke into his face. “I know what I’ve got. _Trust_ me.”

“Oh, I do.”

“But Jack, when it comes to Rhys? He’s weak. He’s _pathetic._ And that little dweeb is going to be the death of him.”

Something clicked in the back of his mind. Axton stiffened, staring unseeing into the wall above Nisha’s head. _No,_ he urged. _No, don’t even—_

“But enough about those idiots,” Nisha purred. She dug her cigarette into the table, then moved forward to press against Axton’s chest, forcing him onto his back to again climb over his hips. “Let’s not ruin our blissful _afterglow.”_

Axton chuckled, reaching up to swipe a thumb along her jawline.

“Well,” he angled his head. “I suppose I could be persuaded.”

“‘Persuaded’, he says,” Nisha gave him a catlike grin. “I prefer ‘forced.’”

“I guess that means we’re aiming for _two_ this time…”

“Mmm. Try three, baby face. _Minimum.”_

* * *

  
  
  
Mulaney was waiting in the foyer when Axton arrived, shifting with some unspoken discomfort. He gave a curt nod as Axton passed through the doorway, one that Axton returned with the same lack of enthusiasm.

“You must be Harkon,” he muttered, keeping his voice quiet.

“Yeah,” Axton thrusted his hand forward, which Mulaney accepted immediately. “Good to meet you, Mulaney. How’d the shift go?”

“Uneventful,” Mulaney shrugged. “Everything’s quiet, as expected.”

_We’ll see about that._

“And the occupants?”

Axton held his breath.

“Handsome Jack hasn’t been around all day,” Mulaney hummed. “His partner was in his study for a few hours, but he’s in the kitchen now.”

 _Not home._ He should have been pleased, but it meant spending some indefinite amount of time alone with Rhys, and while they’d left off on good terms, he wasn’t exactly ready to rush headlong into the same awkward situation.

“Great…” he exhaled softly, adjusting his grip on his rifle.

“Yeah, it’s…” Mulaney followed his gaze, lowering his voice.

“Weird.”

“Yeah. Did you know?”

“No,” Axton sank back. “Who’d have thought Handsome Jack had a personal life, huh?”

Mulaney offered a grin before shaking his head and moving past.

“Good luck, Harkon. See you in the morning.”

“Cheers.”

The reassuring pat at his shoulder lingered briefly; Axton closed his eyes until it disappeared, and the door behind him clicked shut. For a few moments after Mulaney’s departure, he simply remained in place, taking long, calming breaths. His gaze followed the line where the ornate tiling ended and the hardwood flooring of the living room began. He stood rooted in place while fighting against the conflict in his skull and his gut. And although his anxiety and troubled thoughts roared together at the forefront of his mind, he desperately clung to his safety line — the reminder of _why he was here._

He could do this. He had to. If his work with the Raiders was to succeed, he had to bring down Jack, however that was possible. His entire purpose had taken shape in the form of Jack’s demise. What better position to be in than in the man’s own home? And it was reassuring, in its own way — a much needed distraction from the bizarre situation into which he had somehow blindly wandered. He was a soldier, he was on a mission, and as long as he kept his task in mind, he could handle this like any other job.

But upon wandering into the expansive living space to find Rhys bent over the kitchen counter, he wasn’t so sure.

His eyes hung on Rhys’ form for a mournful few seconds before he forced himself into a circuit — a methodical check around the entire room in quick inspection. But it was _too_ quick; it took no time at all to confirm that the place was secure, despite the ample size, and as he moved toward the kitchen, Rhys lifted his head, smile widening upon noticing his presence.

“Alex,” he called, ECHO-Eye flickering with life. “Hell, is it seven already?”

Axton couldn’t help but smirk. “Yeah. Long day?”

“Ugh, _very.”_ Rhys straightened on his bar stool, giving his back a twist; Axton looked away as his button up lifted past his belt line to reveal a flash of skin beneath. “I’ve been pretty invested in a huge project lately, so I missed lunch. And dinner, apparently. Shit, I am _starving_ right now. But I can’t decide if I should cook, or…”

Rhys bit coyly at his lip, dropping his eyes back to the tablet on the counter. Axton swallowed hard.

“Or?”

Lifting the tablet, Rhys angled it toward Axton, tapping at a menu on the screen.

“This place has the _best_ pizza,” he hummed. “Vaughn and I used to get it for game nights. Been a long time since I’ve indulged, but it’s not my cheat day.”

Axton’s eyebrows shot up. He made a very obvious gesture of looking over Rhys’ lean frame, snorting a laugh. “Uh. You’re joking, right?”

Rhys smirked, wriggled his nose, and stuck out his tongue.

“Well fine, fuck you, I’m ordering.”

Warmth, and a soft chuckle, worked its way through Axton’s chest. Rhys again activated his eye, turning up his metallic palm. When the blue light blinking into existence in the air above his hand, Axton turned away, careful to give him privacy. Rhys had never asked for the gesture, but there was something about watching him use his cybernetics that felt strangely intimate.

“You want anything?”

“I shouldn’t.”

“Not your cheat day either, huh?”

“Hah.” He angled his head, biting the inside of his cheek. “Is the pepperoni legit?”

Amusement washed over Rhys’ face; he spared Axton a quick look through his eyelashes.

“It is _here.”_

Axton shook his head, turning on his heel.

“Gonna check over the place,” he answered noncommittally, advancing on the glass staircase nearby.

“Do your thing.”

As he climbed, he specifically avoided looking down at Rhys while proceeding to the second floor. Rhys was so naturally trusting, it hurt. Despite Axton’s conflict of interest, despite any awkwardness that remained between them, Rhys had willingly and easily accepted him back into his home like nothing had happened. And even their banter was just as friendly as ever. It was all so fucking confusing.

_And not why you’re here._

With a silent growl and a shake of his head, Axton proceeded with his work. The gym was empty, seemingly undisturbed except for a towel and cleaning bottle that had been moved. In Rhys’ office, the changes were more noticeable. The first thing that came into view upon Axton tipping his head into the room was the larger screen on Rhys’ desk, which had been turned as if in presentation.

A fairly sinister image of Handsome Jack was visible, his hands outstretched to cradle the floating image of something diamond shaped. The words “you’ll never want to leave” hung creepily in the space near his shoulder, less of a catchphrase and more foreboding than anything. Axton frowned his curiosities, then scanned the rest of the room, which was just as carefully tidied as the gym, before ducking back out.

Just as with the bottom floor, his check of the top floor was complete in a manner of minutes. But just as he reached the precipice of the first stair, sifting through the questions in his mind in a desperate attempt to turn them over and discover something innocent, he realized he couldn’t bring himself to take the first step. With nothing left for him to do, it meant spending the rest of the evening with Rhys, and he wasn’t certain if he was excited by the fact or if—

“There’s my Rhysie.”

Jack’s voice reached his ears in a purr. Axton stiffened, then slowly edged his way to the bannister, careful to peek over the edge. Jack had appeared on the bottom floor, one hand gripping a bottle and the other caging Rhys against the kitchen island. Rhys replied in a contented hum, leaning into his embrace as the older man captured his lips; his cybernetic arm raised up to slip fingers into Jack’s hair. Axton felt the delicious sting of Nisha’s fingers in his own hair and winced, looking away.

“Jack,” Rhys huffed softly, as if already breathless. “I didn’t expect you so early.”

_Early? It’s after seven—_

“I missed you,” Jack murmured. “And I have news.”

Axton again contemplated the stairs. He had already dwelled on the second floor too long — any longer would border on suspicious. But faced with having to endure the sickening display of affection taking place between Rhys and Handsome Jack…

“Well, seeing as you brought champagne,” Rhys paused. “Holy shit. Is it done?”

Axton’s foot stepping down onto the hardwood caught Jack’s attention. The other man jerked around in surprise, glaring in his direction, and something imperceptible moved behind his sharp features. Axton swallowed, then nodded, offering the professional courtesy, to which Jack rolled his eyes.

“Hell,” he sighed. “I forgot about those people.”

“Jack,” Rhys chided. “Be nice.”

“Yeah, yeah.”

Jack strode into the kitchen, ducking briefly behind the counter to retrieve three tall, narrow glasses. Axton blanched, noticing the spare glass, eyes wide as Jack proceeded to fill each beyond what was appropriate, and could barely think to respond when he pointedly slid one toward him.

“Sir—” Axton hesitated. “I shouldn’t. I’m on duty.”

“It’s _one glass,_ cupcake,” Jack snorted. “And you’re only here for _show,_ kiddo. There’s nothing you can protect us from that my security system can’t.”

As a demonstration, or a show of force — Axton wasn’t sure which — Jack swiped casually at his wristwatch. In an instant, turrets descended from the vaulted ceiling above, locking onto Axton’s frame faster than he could even react. He sank back, jaw slack, because _damn,_ and Jack’s expression curled with satisfaction.

“Jack, for fuck’s sake,” Rhys reached over and punched his arm. “Is that really necessary?”

“Just proving a point, kitten,” Jack smirked. He plucked up his own glass, then moved toward Rhys, slipping a hand around his hips to tug him close. Axton was oddly thankful he still had the turrets to stare at to avoid watching the intimate gesture. “He’s only here to appease the board. Which I only agreed to because it was the easiest way to shut them up.”

Rhys activated his arm, and the turrets retracted into the ceiling.

“You’re suggesting that he’s _useless,”_ Rhys grumbled. “When I’m pretty sure he killed your would-be assassin the other day.”

Something flashed in Jack’s eyes; he briefly passed his gaze over Axton, a look that bordered on suspicious, but did not hang long enough to fuel Axton’s paranoia.

“True,” Jack admitted. “But let’s not pretend that miserable excuse for a merc had a chance to begin with.”

Rhys opened his mouth, then seemed to think better. He reached for his own glass, lifting it into the air.

“You were saying?”

Jack paused, grinned, and shifted with a swell of ego.

“Construction has been completed,” he announced. “The reactor test run went perfectly, and everything is in place. A week from now, you’ll get to see this good lookin’ mug cutting the ribbon to the Handsome Jackpot!”

Hah. The _what?_ Axton desperately schooled his reaction, almost having to move the glass in front of his face.

“Finally,” Rhys groaned. He clicked his glass against Jack’s, then reached across the counter to intercept Axton’s. “I thought this day would never arrive.”

Though he wasn’t entirely certain what they were celebrating, Axton mimicked the gesture.

“Congratulations,” he smiled.

But Jack was obviously ignoring him.

“It’s beautiful,” Jack moaned, swallowing an ample swig from his glass. “Glorious. Bright lights, everything in gold, and my face is plastered _everywhere.”_

“Oh, I’m aware.” Rhys shot Axton a wry look. “I edited half of the promotional videos.”

“I almost had them ship one of those statues here,” Jack continued, caught up in his own hubris. “Might have to get the ceiling raised first though.”

Rhys paled. “Not happening, Jack.”

“Aw, Rhysie,” Jack whined, burying his face in Rhys’ neck. “C’mon, baby—”

“Your personal ego already takes up enough room,” Rhys teased. “We do _not_ need one of those monstrosities in here. Bad enough you installed them in my department.”

Jack withdrew slightly, giving Rhys a sharp grin. “Fine. But I’m getting one of those mini projectors. I bet you’d love holo-Jack.”

“I doubt it.” Rhys’ arm pinged, and Axton finally took a breath. “Pizza’s here!”

Rhys made to move toward the door, but Axton stopped him, resting a hand briefly on his shoulder.

“I’ll get it, Rhys.”

Axton headed for the front door, failing to notice Rhys had briefly stiffened at his touch. He checked the security panel in the foyer, noting the presence of a loader bot standing just beyond the entrance. It turned toward the camera, giving a jerky wave with its arm before indicating with the stack of pizza boxes in its other hand. With a smirk, Axton hefted his rifle and opened the door.

“For his royal highness,” the bot immediately droned, shoving the boxes forward. “En. Joy.”

“Hah, uh…” Axton adjusted his grip on the gun to accept the delivery. “Thanks!”

“No. Problem.”

Shutting the door, Axton allowed his gun to hang on its sling before shifting the pizza boxes. He moved back toward the living room, smirking.

“Rhys, why did the—”

Axton slid to a stop. Jack had backed Rhys up against the kitchen island again, but this time his mask was drawn tight. Rhys stared back into his eyes, brow furrowed in a frown, but he said nothing, seeming to scan him with some frustration. The somewhat hostile pose Jack had taken had Axton bristling defensively, but Rhys was quick to disrupt the moment, leaning forward to press a chaste kiss on the tip of Jack’s nose.

“Don’t be an idiot,” he uttered quietly. “I got us pizza. You want one or not?”

“What’d you order, kitten?” Jack’s voice curled with heat. “A _meat lover’s?”_

“You—” Rhys blinked, shook his head. “Keep it in your pants, Jack.”

“For now,” Jack agreed with a hum, passing a look over his shoulder to Axton. “For now.”

Well, shit. Axton did not visibly react, but a cool, intense ripple of fear trickled through his core. Jack’s expression had darkened upon passing over Axton, and it was enough to leave him frozen in place. What the hell had just happened?

“Besides, we’re celebrating,” Jack relented, resuming his strangely playful persona.

His rapid fire personality changes had Axton reeling, and he looked to Rhys in question, but the cybernetic man was only watching Jack, almost as if he was avoiding looking in Axton’s direction.

“Come on, kitten,” Jack hummed, tugging Rhys toward the couches. “Let’s get _shitfaced.”_

* * *

  
  
Jack wasn’t exactly a lightweight, but the fact that he hadn’t outlasted Rhys was the most surprising moment of that night so far. It was sometime after 2am, and Axton sat on the couch inset into the floor, eyes focused on the flickering fireplace at the centre. Rhys was sunk into the seating almost exactly across from him, and Jack was on the floor between his feet, unconscious with his face turned against Rhys’ leg. He snored softly, slowly losing grip of the champagne bottle in his hand, and Rhys lazily sifted fingers through his hair, watching him sleep with some contented expression on his face.

The scene was surreal, equal parts calming and obscene, and Axton did everything he could not to stare in awe. But of course, Rhys, who wasn’t plastered but was hardly sober, continued to pass idle glances his way.

“Well, Alex?” Rhys slurred, wiggling an eyebrow his direction. “Now that we’re alone… anything you want to ask?”

Axton shifted in his seat, taken aback by the sudden disruption of the peaceful silence.

“Sorry?”

“You had a _million questions_ , right?”

Axton stiffened, gazing uneasily toward Jack. “…uh.”

“Nothing? Hm. I was hoping you’d have something salacious for me.”

 _What the fuck._ Sirens blared in his head. All his good senses grabbed him by the shoulders, trying to shake sense into him. But when Rhys’ head tipped to the side, biting softly at his lower lip, all of his cares drifted away. Jack was clearly _out_ anyway.

“I… suppose I was curious how _this_ happened…” Axton muttered, gesturing between Jack and Rhys. “It’s not something I would have expected of either of you, to be honest.”

He knew how it had started, thanks to Vaughn and Yvette, but it yet remained a mystery. Rhys gazed fondly at Jack, reaching to stroke a lock of hair away from his forehead. Jack didn’t even twitch at the touch. “He makes me laugh.”

“I mean, he certainly has an _interesting_ sense of humour.”

“Honestly, that’s all I can offer… it was a chance meeting, and we just seemed to understand each other. What else can I say?”

“So the casual murder doesn’t bother you?"

Axton stiffened as soon as the words escaped his lips. Rhys, however, merely made a face as he contemplated the inside of the beer bottle in his other hand. He hummed, appeared lost in thought, and Axton wondered if he had grown bored of the conversation, but then Rhys exhaled softly, swirling his bottle as he stared into its contents.

“When Jack and I started… whatever _this_ is… someone tried to forcibly ventilate one of the level 5 hallways,” Rhys mumbled, glancing across at Axton. “While I was walking through it.”

Axton’s eyes edged wide; Rhys returned his attention to the bottle. “Jack figured out who was responsible pretty quickly. And he responded in _kind_. I’m fairly certain you can still see the guy floating around out there.”

Rhys downed the last, bitter swallow of beer before leaning forward and stabbing the bottle down onto the edge of the fireplace. He levelled a sharp look at Axton, suddenly serious. “I’ve learned that Jack’s murderous tendencies can be… _beneficial_. As long as you stay on his good side.”

Axton snorted. Rhys looked at him in surprise. “And when you’re no longer on his good side?”

Jack shifted. The pair glanced at him in unison. Axton felt a paranoid itch at the back of his neck.

“Then I just hope he’s feeling _merciful_ that day.”

Rhys was living with an unknown expiration date on his head. And _happily_ doing so. Axton eased back against his seat, watching Rhys as Rhys watched Jack, rigid as a heavy tension sank into his chest. There was nothing normal or healthy about being in a relationship with Handsome Jack; it took a _special_ person to take those risks. And now, listening to Rhys and observing his contented smile, Axton realized it wasn’t the _kind_ of _special_ that he initially thought. Or had hoped.

The rest of the early morning was relatively uneventful; Jack eventually roused himself enough for Rhys to help him to his feet before leading him back to the master bedroom. It left Axton a few hours to himself, which he spent in the very same place on the couch, staring bitterly into the flames. He was given plenty of time to stew, to think, to plan. And as soon as Mulaney arrived the next morning, he thankfully and quickly backed out, a heavy wave of relief washing over him upon moving into the elevator. This time, the flips in his stomach were unrelated to the rapid descent of the elevator car.

Shortly after returning his munitions to the security quartermaster, Axton took the twenty minute journey into the bowels of Helios, and activated his ECHO. Another half hour after that, left sitting alone in the dark of the forgotten storage room, he barely startled when his clunky device flashed with light.

“About time. You have news?”

“Yeah,” Axton hummed, lifting his eyes to the impatient Siren. “I’ve found our target.”


	6. A Shred of Doubt

Axton had never been able to say “no” to a pretty face. It had gotten him into trouble countless times as a hot-headed teenager back on Hieronymous — was the reason he had enlisted with Dahl in the first place. And even after rushing blindly into his first marriage, then having been burnt by the subsequent separation, Axton still had yet to learn from his mistakes.

So when he found these limitations seemingly doubled at the whims of Handsome Jack’s partner, it left him feeling particularly troubled, especially after what he’d committed to the previous night. But Rhys just had this _pout_ that was friggin’ adorable. As he stood directly before him in the foyer, shyly biting at his lip, Axton could only sigh, unable to summon forward any decent reason to turn down his request.

“I really shouldn’t,” Axton tried, glancing warily into the empty penthouse. “I’m supposed to be guarding—”

“Me,” Rhys hummed. “Right? Aren’t you supposed to be my bodyguard, in a sense?”

“I—” _Damn._ “I suppose…”

“It’ll be quick,” Rhys insisted. “I left something in my office that is pretty important for a project I wanted to get done tonight. And with the latest attack, I doubt Jack would want me to go alone…”

 _And why isn’t_ he _here to go with you?_

Axton hesitated long enough to rub at the back of his neck, passing his eyes along the floor tiles underfoot.

“Okay…” he relented. “But let’s be quick about it.”

He tried to ignore the jump in his stomach as Rhys’ face lit up, instead turning to open the door for him. As they passed into the hallway beyond, he retrieved his helmet from his inventory, slipping the gear into place over his head before following up with his submachine gun. Rhys led the way to the elevator, and when the doors slid open, there was a very noticeable pause between the two. Axton gazed awkwardly toward the cybernetic man in the corner of his eye, watching him take a sharp intake of breath before blushing and stepping into the small space.

“We shouldn’t run into any problems,” Rhys rambled. “The department will be empty this time of night, and we only have to take two elevators.”

 _Great._ Axton rolled his eyes, quietly leaving distinct space between the two as they lingered in the cramped area. If Rhys noticed the gesture, he did not say as much, having lifted his arm to access his cybernetics.

“Although I’m also tempted to swing by Jack’s office. I bet that doofus fell asleep on his desk again.”

“Works a lot, does he?”

Rhys’ expression flickered. “He’s been busier lately, between the Jackpot and a couple other pretty big projects. It’s understandable. I guess I just…”

He sighed, blinking softly as he seemed to stare through the screen projected above his metal palm.

“It’s nothing. Never mind.”

It wasn’t nothing. Not from Axton’s perspective. But he wasn’t supposed to care.

“How do you like the Presence?”

Axton flinched. He followed Rhys’ gaze, turning the gun over in his grip.

 _I like the Dahl parts._ “It’s easy to handle. Recoil is low, so that’s nice.”

Rhys nodded, avidly tracing the weapon with his eyes. “It was a good starting point. Hyperion was only really scratching the surface of SMG tech at the time. The next generation of models are _awesome._ Just wait until you see the Boardroom product line.”

“Oh yeah?” Axton perked up. “What should I expect?”

“Generally better handling and accuracy, but the _designs_ are what I’m most excited about.” A very visible shiver passed through Rhys. “We leaned on the angular aspect of our existing models to set our SMGs apart — there’s no way you’ll confuse them for a piece of crap Maliwan anymore.”

Axton chuckled. “Did you have a hand in that?”

Rhys shrugged, but offered a smirk. “Hey, part of my job. Branding is important, you know.”

“You couldn’t argue that Hyperion doesn’t have brand power.”

“Damn straight.”

_Don’t ask._

“So does that mean you shoot?”

_Fuck._

Rhys’ eyes widened. He lifted his head with a swallow.

“Sometimes. I haven’t had the chance lately…”

“Well, hey,” Axton started, despite the swell of _no, no, stop,_ rushing through his head. “I drill for an hour before every shift. You could always join me.”

Rhys turning away did not prevent Axton from missing the flush of red in his cheeks.

“That, uh,” he nervously carded fingers through his hair. “Jack wouldn’t like that much.”

Well, shit. There it was again. That vicious, lingering pulse of envy. Was it that Jack would dislike the pair of them getting close? Or was it Rhys’ autonomy that irritated the older man? As though Rhys being able to look after himself might threaten Jack’s alpha dog demeanour — keeping Rhys naive and innocent and _close._

Either option seemed possible, but he wasn’t about to ask. Axton even tried to look away, to mind his business, but his eyes had latched onto Rhys, studying his evasive expression. However, it was then that the elevator came to a stop, and Axton followed Rhys out into the thankfully unoccupied hallway.

Not much else was said along their journey. The exchange hadn’t been particularly awkward, but Rhys quickly buried himself in various tasks via his cybernetic hand, leaving Axton to trail after him in silence. It was agonizing in its own way, as he mentally chided himself for having extended the offer. When they had first met, Rhys was a potential friend. That was not the case anymore. And he should have learned his lesson after that night in the elevator.

However, Axton was nothing if not stubborn, even if it was a detriment to his own interests.

When they at last arrived at Rhys’ department, Axton’s inner monologue had left a scowl beneath his helmet. But as the doors to the main hall opened, it faded away, and his eyes edged wide.

He had never been to the Propaganda department before, and it was _exactly_ what he should have expected. Almost every square inch of the place was covered with various depictions of Handsome Jack — posters, banners, oil paintings, statues — bordered on all sides by that nauseating Hyperion yellow. The entire department was splashed with its own marketing materials, causing Axton to stumble back at the sight.

“I know,” Rhys chuckled. “Kind of sickening, am I right?”

Axton blinked, stunned gaze drifting to the man at his side.

“Uh—”

“I love Jack,” he gestured to the room with a wave. “But even I can admit this is a little much.”

Caught between Rhys’ admission of _love,_ and distinct shock at his attitude toward the departmental decor, Axton said nothing. Rhys smirked at his silence before nodding toward his office.

“C’mon. I’ll be quick.”

Separate from the relatively open layout that most of the space boasted was Rhys’ private office. He stopped briefly at the door, long enough to activate his cybernetics to access the room, and Axton found his attention settling along the name etched into the exterior glass wall.

 _Rhys Strongfork /_ _Head of Propaganda_

“You’re the head of the department?”

Some muscle in Rhys' face twitched.

“Yeah. But don’t give Jack the credit for it,” he growled softly. “…at least not all of it.”

“Oh, no,” Axton blanched. “Definitely not what I meant. I think I was more surprised that you…”

Halfway into the room, Rhys faltered. Yet again, his expression shifted with some imperceptible weight, as he turned to consider Axton in the doorway. It left Axton feeling uneasy, realizing that more and more often he was having difficulty actually reading what Rhys was thinking. And it had been there all along, but he always prescribed some notion that often turned out to be, well—

Dead wrong.

“Since I’ve come onboard...” Rhys began slowly; he straightened, and the casual demeanour Axton was familiar with seemed to slough away. “Public perception of Hyperion has drastically shifted. While we still rely on Handsome Jack’s persona of cutthroat business tactics against competitors, it became clear that the same methods had less than desirable effects on the local populace, as well as other targets of note.”

 _Targets._ Axton adjusted the gun in his hands, shifting discontentedly. Rhys continued, turning his back on Axton to advance to his desk.

“Have you heard the proverb, ‘you catch more flies with honey than vinegar?’ Same thing, really.”

He sunk into his chair, passing a narrow eyed glance over Axton. “We just poison the honey as well.”

As Rhys turned his attention to his original task, he appeared ignorant to the effect his words had caused. Axton was frozen in place, but for the very real chill trickling down each vertebrae in his spine, settling with a peculiar heaviness at his lower back. The disturbingly nonchalant change in Rhys’ personality had his head spinning, and Axton’s lips parted beneath his helmet to take a heavy, wavering breath.

He did not pretend to know who Rhys was, not really. Not since walking into Handsome Jack’s penthouse that first time. But he’d held out hope. Rhys was still _good,_ had good friends, had good intentions. He would be a positive influence on Jack, just like Cade had said — he reined him in. This Rhys, however, was troubling. This Rhys was hidden, a boundless, dark shape drifting just beneath the turbulent surface. This Rhys was…

Manipulative.

“Strongfork.”

Axton flinched with the gutpunch that was the sound of Handsome Jack’s voice. He turned to lock eyes with the man where he stood a few feet away, shocked to see him there at all. He had snuck up so casually, Axton had barely had time to register he was there before he was almost upon him, a thought that troubled him for a number of reasons.

For a moment he remained in place, reaching for excuses for their combined presence outside of the penthouse, but if it bothered him, Jack didn’t show it. In fact, he gave him the barest nod in greeting, seemingly untroubled by his presence. Rhys did not seem worried either, pushing onto his feet upon noticing his arrival.

“Oh!” Rhys batted at his chest, flattening the creases in his waistcoat as Jack passed Axton in the doorway. “Hey! What can I do for you?”

Axton frowned. Rhys’ response was casual, but unattached — hardly the behaviour between loving partners. But it made sense: Rhys remaining a secret was probably for the best, if only for his own safety. As far as Axton was aware, the only recent assassination attempts had been on Jack’s life, leaving Rhys a modicum of freedom to walk Helios’ halls without fear. But after having witnessed their nauseating affection firsthand, it was now more than a little bizarre to see the two greet each other with cool, quiet disinterest.

“We need to chat about the opening,” Jack nodded firmly. “Alone.”

“Of course.” Rhys agreed. “Please come in.”

Axton knowingly moved out of the way to provide the pair the space they required. Rhys spared him a brief glance, which he had for some reason expected to be apologetic, but it, too, was passive and businesslike. An emotionless transaction between coworkers of different rankings.

“I’ll just be a few minutes, Alex.”

“I will be here, sir.”

The door closed; the floor to ceiling windows shuttered. Axton briefly straightened with unease, then did his best to shake it off, turning his back on the office door.

He fully understood the facade the two put on. Being partners with a man like Handsome Jack came with massive risks. But how could that lifestyle be _satisfying?_ Most couples that seemed as enamoured with one another as they did typically _celebrated_ each other. There was a natural impulse to want the world to see their love. But with Rhys and Jack... How did Rhys not feel like a dirty little secret?

Axton shook his head, chiding himself. Despite all that he had come to realize about Rhys, that he wasn’t the innocent, naive person he’d initially anticipated, Axton had the habit of continuing to paint him with the same brush. He had to accept the truth about Rhys — that he wasn’t fragile. He didn’t require constant validation that his relationship meant something. Rhys knew where he stood with Jack, and outside of the strain from a few moments of neglect regarding Jack’s busy schedule, Rhys seemed…

Happy.

With a bitter taste in his mouth, Axton moved away from the office. He really, _really,_ hoped they were actually discussing the Jackpot in that office, and not fucking on Rhys’ desk. Not that it would matter…

Rhys was a mark. He was Jack’s weakness. He was now Axton’s chance at glory. And nothing else.

Something conflicting twisted its way through Axton’s stomach. He paused, coming to stand at a typically gaudy statue of Jack astride a unicorn in the centre of the open office layout. Here he was, questioning how Rhys could put up with the risks of being Jack’s partner, while also plotting to be the very one to take advantage of that knowledge.

“Fuck me,” Axton uttered, scanning the bronze Jack’s face. “What am I _doing?”_

The door distantly behind him opened; Rhys was the first to walk out.

“It will be easy,” he explained. “Everything is arranged for you to cut the ribbon, make a brief appearance on camera, and that will be it. Hell, you can shoot the ribbon if you want. Probably more on-brand.”

“Maybe,” Jack grunted, seemingly displeased. “But I still think it would be better if you—”

“You will do just fine without me,” Rhys insisted. “Besides, I have to coordinate the broadcast from here. You know how I prefer the comfort of my own office…”

Axton resisted quirking a brow. He pivoted and moved back toward the two, while yet keeping his distance. And still, Jack ignored him.

“I get the security concerns,” Jack sighed. “As long as it’s okay with—”

“It _is.”_ Rhys reached out and rested a hand on Jack’s arm. “I promise.”

Jack relented in silence, carefully scrutinizing Rhys’ face. He gave a final half-hearted nod, then straightened, snapping back into what Axton recognized as the _Handsome Jack_ persona.

“Alright, kiddo. I’ll take it from here.”

Rhys smiled gently, lowering his hand. “Thank you. For everything.”

Jack lifted an arm and patted Rhys’ cheek, then spun, striding past Axton without another glance. The abruptness of his departure left a peculiar silence in his wake; Axton stared at Rhys in wonder. As if predicting his questions, Rhys shrugged, dipping back into his office, and Axton followed directly behind.

“You know, you get this look,” Rhys smirked. “Your _‘million questions’_ face.”

“Well, you two are…” Axton hesitated. “Constantly surprising, I suppose.”

Rhys’ expression pinched with confusion. He glanced after Jack’s trail, then back to Axton, and the look faded.

“Oh,” he chuckled, dropping into his chair. “I see. Sorry, it’s just so second nature to me now that I don’t stop to consider what it looks like to an outsider.”

Axton tried not to visibly wince at the word. Instead, he tilted his head to the side.

“You’re not going to the Jackpot?”

“Of course not,” Rhys snorted, returning his attention to the ECHO device plugged into his desk. “The security risks are too great, remember?”

“But Jack—”

“Don’t worry about Jack. I can handle him.”

Axton bit his tongue. Rhys sagged, shooting him an exhausted look from the corner of his eye.

 _“Ask,_ Alex.”

“…you’re fine being here without him?”

Again, a look of confusion seemed to pass over Rhys’ face. It was quickly replaced with something almost annoyed, and Axton quickly realized he was beginning to cross a line he never intended.

“When our work _does_ require me to be separate from Jack, you’ll be happy to know that I am strong enough to entertain myself for the duration.”

Axton went still.

“Rhys, I—”

“Never mind,” Rhys sighed sharply. He leaned forward, ejecting the ECHO from his desk. “I’ve got what I need. Let’s go.”

Nothing more was said. They headed back to the penthouse, and Jack arrived not long after. Despite some initially irritated glances passed in Axton’s direction, he appeared genuinely excited to see Rhys, a strange departure from his earlier behaviour. He whisked Rhys off into the privacy of their bedroom, and Axton was again left alone, losing himself in the flicker of the fireplace.

It was difficult not to dwell on the mistakes he'd made in the last couple of days. He was heavy with regret, mostly when it came to Rhys — he had acted too quickly in what was a moment of envious frustration, and now more than a shred of doubt remained. When Rhys was a secret, he was safe. Anyone in Jack’s inner circle knowingly assumed a very great risk, being the only thing to possibly bring down the Hyperion overlord, but it was _Axton_ who had shoved Rhys across that line.

Now that the Raiders were aware of his existence, there was little else left to be done. But regardless, he still wavered — still sought reasons to backtrack, to change course. Of course, it was too late. He could only hope that whatever happened, however they emerged from this on the other side, that it would work out for the better for both of them. That maybe, _maybe,_ Rhys would see Handsome Jack for who he truly was, and would learn what a real hero looked like.

* * *

  
  
It took a few days to get the fast travel machine running. The process proved to be incredibly frustrating, with Scooter feeding him instructions via the ECHO device he had propped up opposite from where he worked. The tools that remained on the floor were wrong, nothing seemed to fit properly, and more than once he ended up catching a finger on a sharp corner of the machine.

Really, fuck Hyperion and their stupid angular designs.

But when at last — at _last_ the final piece clicked into place, and the machine _whirred_ with life, Axton stepped back to bathe in the blue glow of its light. He watched it carefully, almost half expecting it to explode, but as it presented a map of Pandora, providing a few preselected destinations, Axton nodded his approval.

“Daaang,” Scooter drawled. “I didn’t think it would work.”

Axton shot a look over his shoulder, brow furrowed.

“Uh, I mean — good job! Good job, buddy!”

“Yeah, thanks,” Axton bit his tongue. “So what’s next?”

Scooter’s image flickered and faded, replaced quickly with Roland’s proud, but stern visage. Axton immediately straightened.

“Nice work, soldier,” he nodded. “We’ll prep a secure location planet-side. In the meantime, plan your route carefully. Jack going off station will present the ideal opportunity to act.”

“Yes, sir,” Axton hummed. “The ribbon cutting happens to take place during the late afternoon in Helios time, toward the end of the work day. I can take advantage of the chaos this will undoubtedly set off.”

“Good. One of our hunters has managed to hack a number of loader bots. She will have them return to Helios on a shuttle then attack the hangar bay. Lilith will also be providing a distraction before she meets up with you.”

_Of course._

“Just make sure you’re with the target when the attack happens. You’ll have very little time to get him here before all hell breaks loose.”

“Understood.”

“Excellent. Is there anything else?”

 _Promise me he won’t get hurt._ Axton stifled the impulse, shaking his head.

“No, sir. I’ll be ready.”

“Very well. Amazing work, soldier. If this works, you’ll have achieved something no one else could.”

A victory. A satisfying, glorious achievement. Everything Axton had been working toward.

But as the light of his ECHO blinked out, the excitement at the prospect went with it. The room around him fell into silence, but for the incessant, subtle buzz from the machine at his back, and the uneasy breath past parted lips.

What the hell was he _doing?_ There was no glory in what he was about to do. He was risking harm on someone he had admittedly grown to care about, regardless of how little he knew about him, and all for what? For the cause of an almost defunct rebel group on some backwater planet that he didn’t give two shits about. Hell, he’d only joined the Raiders because he had heard their broadcast first, and the potential for money and fame had been wonderfully alluring at the time.

What did that all mean now?

Axton’s ECHO device — the Hyperion one — chimed a reminder. It was almost seven. He stiffened, sighed, and headed for the door, doing his best to put everything out of his mind. For now, he would do his job. He was Alex Harkon, a Hyperion security officer working in the employ of Handsome Jack himself. He was dutiful and loyal and _he could do this._

But the moment Axton arrived in the expansive living space of Jack’s penthouse, having failed to notice his fellow officer’s presence notably lingering _outside_ the front doors, it all came crumbling down.

Rhys was bent over the kitchen counter, button up pulled loose and parted where his chest was pressed against the surface. Axton could see glimpses of blue — his tattoo hidden teasingly just below his collar, but despite the temptation the view offered, the rest of the scene was too surreal not to snag his attention away. Rhys’ face was red, eyes screwed shut and mouth hanging deliciously open as he moaned his pleasure. And Handsome Jack leaned over him from behind, a hand pinning him to the surface by the neck. Jack’s movements looked punishing, as he viciously thrusted into Rhys from behind, but Rhys appeared to be enjoying every minute of it. He whined against the counter, grabbing onto the granite with his cybernetic arm for balance. But while Axton’s attention latched onto Rhys, in complete, utter shock, he was somehow able to lift his eyes up in time to see Jack definitively staring straight back at him.

Jack’s expression was drawn tight, eyebrows sharpened. He glared across at Axton in what seemed to be a direct challenge. Axton very nearly looked away, as he very well should have. But something heavy gripped him, and he bristled, daring to stare right back into Jack’s eyes.  
  


A sharp smirk curled into Jack’s lips, unfriendly and hostile. He moved his hand up into Rhys’ hair, snagging it sharply back; Axton winced as Rhys was dragged upward into Jack’s chest. With his other hand, Jack took a firm hold around his windpipe, and Rhys groaned, melting further into his arms as Jack rutted into him from behind. The fingers gripping Rhys’ neck only seemed to encourage the younger man, and he tilted his head for Jack to bite at the flesh over his circular tattoo.

“Jack, _fuuuuck.”_ Rhys’ voice came out in a raspy, delirious hiss, and Axton at last looked away.

“You like that kitten?” he heard Jack mutter. “You like it when big, bad, Handsome Jack fucks you hard?”

“I, w-what?”

Axton heard fumbling, some quiet cursing, but he did not turn back, directing his gaze out into the deep void of space as something inside of him was quietly torn in half.

“Jack, what the fuck!”

Jack chuckled.

“Alex, I’m so sorry!”

At this, Axton hesitantly glanced toward where the pair had been. Rhys was hastily dressing himself, face red with shame, and he shot Jack an absolutely infuriated look.

 _“Damn_ it, Jack. Get over your stupid shit!”

Jack’s expression darkened, flickering toward Rhys in disbelief. “The hell does that mean?”

“It means that I’m not dealing with your petty jealousy,” Rhys snapped. “Just because you’re feeling threatened doesn’t mean you get to mark me like I’m your fucking property.”

Rhys spared a quick and somewhat contrite look toward Axton one last time, then escaped down the hallway to the bedroom.

“I’ll be waiting for your apology, asshole,” he called from a distance.

The resulting slamming of a door left a ringing in Axton’s ears. Jack sneered, attention locked onto the hallway where Rhys had disappeared. He tucked himself uncomfortably back into his jeans, then carefully adjusted his jacket before again setting his glare on Axton.

“Shall I leave, sir?” Axton asked, a clear edge to his voice.

“No,” Jack snapped. “You’ll do your goddamn job, and stop eye-fucking my fiancé.”

Axton blanched. _Fiancé?_

“Are we clear, _Alex?”_

He wavered, scanning the hard lines of Jack’s face. A tendril of fear curled about in his stomach at the weight of his false name on Jack’s tongue. “…crystal, sir.”

“Good,” Jack hissed. “He is _mine.”_

Axton inwardly seethed, but did not respond.

“I don’t wanna hear you call him ‘Rhys’ again. It is _Mister Strongfork,_ sir, or nothing else. And if I ever see you anywhere close to him again, I’ll have your dick fed to the alpha skags down in R&D _._ ”

“Yes, sir,” he forced. “I’m just here to guard, sir.”

“Oh yeah?”

Jack crossed the room; Axton tried not to slip his finger onto the trigger as he came close. 

“Then why’d you try to stick your tongue down his throat in _my_ elevator?”

Fierce, hateful unease tore through Axton’s chest. His eyes widened, and he faltered back a step as Jack’s face angled toward his.

“Consider yourself lucky to still be _alive,_ Harkon,” he snarled. “Y’see, after I discovered the footage of that little exchange, Rhysie gave excuses for you. Said you were drunk. It was a _mistake._ But I know a goddamn _crush_ when I see it. And what a fucking coincidence that you happened to show up on our doorstep the next morning, conveniently assigned as bodyguard.”

Axton straightened under Jack’s scrutiny. “Cade chose me because of the assassin incident, sir.”

_“Indeed.”_

“And believe me — I had no idea who Rhys was before I walked into this penthouse,” he grunted, bordering on a growl. “Not really.”

Jack hesitated, scrutinizing his face in disbelief. But Axton’s admission was just believable enough, as he seemed to relent by turning to assess the direction Rhys had gone, minutes before. As Jack eased back a few steps, and it appeared Axton _wasn’t_ about to be airlocked, his asshole unclenched.

“Fuck’s sake,” Jack threw his hands up. “Now I get to clean up _your_ mess. I’m not sleeping on the fucking couch tonight.”

Axton did not move, even after Jack disappeared toward the bedroom presumably to chase down Rhys. He stared unseeing, adrift amidst his fear and loathing and asking himself for the millionth time that day — _what the hell am I doing here?_

Forcing a long, steady breath, he considered. He was okay. He was still standing, and Jack hadn’t filled him with bullet holes. He hadn’t even reassigned him, despite bearing the knowledge of what Axton had previously attempted with Rhys.

And he likely _wouldn’t_ reassign him. Jack had made his point, and backing down now would be a sign of weakness. It would be very on brand for him to leave Axton wallowing in his role in misery, fully aware that he wouldn’t make a move out of fear. Especially with the heavy turrets hanging over his head.

Axton sighed, passing a gaze over the unassuming ceiling. He pressed a hand to his lower back, feeling the absence of his own turret where it normally rested with his gear. It almost left a greater void than the ring had against his collarbone, a reminder that he truly was on his own up here.

_Well, shit._

He sighed, but in turning back toward the window to gaze down at Pandora, realized that this was what he’d needed. In the time it took him to get the fast travel machine working, doubt had begun to set in. A quietly simmering remorse for what he was about to do. But now, he quickly found a new sensation taking the place of the fury roiling in his chest. It was _purpose —_ renewed, and strong.

And it was all thanks to Jack.


	7. I Fucking Knew It

So, okay. Even Axton could admit — the Handsome Jackpot was pretty damn impressive. The diamond shaped space station slash casino was more opulent than Helios itself, its hallways lined with looming, golden statues and obnoxiously bright slot machines. Even the robotic staff were gleaming, as they hovered over red carpets and past tall, flowing fountains. It was flashy and thrilling and the perfect reflection of Handsome Jack’s ego and pomposity in the form of a vicious money making scheme. It held Axton in awe while also smirking unhappily in a complete lack of surprise. And although his attention was briefly snagged by a preview of the Vice district, he mostly turned his gaze away from the vast screens that had been set up throughout the Propaganda department, trying to ignore the bitter taste that yet lingered in his mouth.

There was a general hum of excitement permeating through the massive room that had yet to breach Axton’s defences; he purposefully maintained his distance as he watched the rest of the employees collecting in enthusiastic huddles around the large screens. He had mostly managed to remain inconspicuous, going unnoticed by his fellow Hyperion coworkers like was normal on any given day, but there had been a nerve wracking moment when he had first wandered into the department. The blinding red flash of a body scan caused him to falter in surprise; he turned sharply to spy a pair of loader bots that had been stationed just inside the entrance. They had lumbered forward, passing lone eyes over him in glowing scrutiny, and Axton could do little but straighten and await their judgement.

He barely heard what the closest bot droned in its garbled, distorted voice, deafened as he was by the pounding of his own heartbeat in his ears.

“You are off duty. Explain your presence.”

Really, there was no reason for him to be there. He barely had a legitimate excuse, beyond casually “checking in” outside his work hours, which he severely doubted was a regular habit of his fellow officers. But as the lag in his response began to border on inappropriate, nearing suspicious, he spat out the only thing that came to mind.

“I’m visiting a friend. That okay with you, tin can?”

The bot seemed to consider the bite of his response. The pause provided ample time for something to itch at the back of Axton’s neck; he bit his tongue in an effort to quell the temptation to lift a hand and scratch.

“Don’t make trouble.”

Axton gave a quick, sarcastic salute, if only as a gesture to cover an exhale of relief. He strode past the loader bots, maintaining his offended facade while he remained in eyesight, and circled around the outer perimeter of the open room layout, all the while keeping the distant shape of Rhys’ office door in his peripherals.

_This is a really fuckin’ dumb idea._

He had planned for this. With Jack off station, the timing was perfect. The positioning of Rhys’ office at the back of the department made for an easy interception; he could sneakily slip past the rush of employees once the attack began. And he had even found a conveniently placed service elevator in the back hallways of the department, one which, while it did not lead _directly_ to the storage floors, came a lot closer than anything else he’d been able to come up with. And the route did not even link up with the Hub, providing a quiet escape path. Really, it should be all too easy.

So why did he feel so woefully unprepared?

Well, that was simple. Because despite the simple route, despite the cover of an attack, and despite his role of _security officer_ being sufficient reasoning for him to be there, he was well aware that somewhere along the way, things would reach a breaking point. Rhys was not _dumb._ He would pause. He would consider. And all of the trust between them would dissolve in an instant.

And _this_ was why Axton felt unprepared. He wasn’t ready to lose Rhys. Not that he _had_ Rhys, but whatever existed between them made them more than just workplace associates. The only hope that dwelled somewhere in the recesses of his mind was that, wherever the two ended up, he could convince Rhys that his actions were noble. That Handsome Jack was a scourge on Pandora, a monster, and _hardly marriage material._

Not that Axton had a great concept on what made for good marriage material... _still._

With a wince, a sharp jerk of his head, Axton dismissed the clinging thoughts. He returned to the task at hand, surveying the room with a casual gaze. Briefly, his attention clung to the Propaganda employees in the distance, feeling an odd brush of envy as they laughed and gestured and worshipped at the beckoning imagery of Handsome Jack on the screens above. There was something to be admired about the general camaraderie between the coworkers, the blissful celebration of a difficult project finally coming to fruition. Even now, despite the general behaviour he’d been exposed to in the previous few weeks, Axton watched them with a smile. It was a welcome distraction, both from the unease in his stomach and the weight of the device attached to his belt. He thumbed idly at the thing, trying to both ignore it and grow accustomed to its presence.

“Our men will meet you here. Try to arrive without drawing any attention. Use this—”

As Lilith finished with strapping explosives to the bulk of the fast travel machine, she turned to pass him the small device. He gazed mutely at it as she pressed it into his grip, feeling his nerves begin to fray. But as Lilith’s hand lingered on his, he hesitated at the peculiar exchange, lifting his head in time to catch a look of uncertainty in her eyes. It was so unlike the Firehawk he’d come to know, which was enough to give him pause.

“What’s this?” he asked quietly, closing his fingers over hers. She dropped her hand away at his touch, seeming to snap back into reality.

“It’s a signal dampener. A jammer. It has a ten foot radius, so stay close to the target. It will knock out those fancy cybernetics of his.”

“It won’t damage them permanently, will it?” A punch of concern. “There are some in his head.”

“It should be fine. Now get going.”

 _It should be fine._ Not the most reassuring, but it was all he had.

He stayed behind in the storage room long enough to double check the explosives — they would trigger upon their departure from the station, wiping out any traces of their planet-bound coordinates, so it was important to get it right — before eventually, begrudgingly, making his way up to where he now stood. And from the moment he had settled in the background, shoulders pressed to the wall and shifting from foot to foot, all he could do was watch, and wrack his brain for the right words.

The right words that would convince Rhys to follow him to their mutual undoing. That loathsome, haunting moment when their friendship would be torn apart. Words that Axton had not managed to find.

But there was time. And anyway — he worked best under pressure. When he could embrace his true calling, and lapse back into some semblance of the _soldier_ that he was supposed to be. When he could ignore _Rhys_ and simply focus on Handsome Jack’s downfall. Axton’s opportunity at glory. His chance at being a _hero._

 _Well, shit._ Axton thumbed at the device. _I don’t exactly_ feel _like a hero right now._

He winced. Dropped his other hand to his holster to thumb at his pistol. Traced circles in the floor with his eyes. 

_He’s not who you think he is,_ he tried to remind himself. _He’s dark. He’s trouble. He’s Handsome Jack’s fiancé, for fuck’s sake._

But he was kind. Dorky, but a hilarious, endearing kind of dorky. _Adorable._ And he turned Axton’s stomach over at every sight.

Axton glanced toward Rhys’ office, swallowing the lump in his throat. The Head of Propaganda had not deigned to join his employees for the opening broadcast, instead remaining behind his closed door. At least, Axton _assumed_ he was in there. _Hoped_ he was. Axton had sent a fairly innocent ECHO to Mulaney up in the penthouse not long before arriving in the department, _just checking in,_ to which the other officer had responded with a brief:

 **M: Place is empty. Bored. Shoot me.**

A good thing Rhys wasn’t up there, or else he might have had to resort to that. And Axton wasn’t eager to try forcing his way through several dozen floors of Helios with a kidnap victim in tow, so it was for the best he was in his office. _If_ he was in his office. Shit, what if he was in _Jack’s_ office? What if—

But before Axton could dwell on it for much longer, before the itching at his neck got just bad enough to send him toward that closed door far too early, Handsome fucking Jack stole the show.

The feeds across the room shifted. Jack was taking the spotlight, gesturing emphatically over the crowd as he sauntered toward the ribbon crossing the casino’s entrance. Axton couldn’t hear what was being said from where he stood, _thank goodness,_ but he assumed it was, well — _pompous, arrogant, insulting._ He almost smirked as, when the cameras panned out to take in the full entrance of the casino, he noticed yet another enormous statue of Jack. This one stood in a triumphant pose, with its arms outstretched beneath a rotating globe overhead. It was fairly reminiscent of old world imagery of Atlas, leaving Axton to wonder if the reference was an intentional, quiet mockery toward the failed weapons company of the same name, or a sheer coincidence.

He also wondered if _Rhys_ had been responsible for that little idea.

When the cameras finished panning and zoomed back in on Jack, he was still talking (surprise, surprise). But then he was moving forward, seemingly intent on the ribbon. True to form, having taken Rhys’ _on-brand_ suggestion, he unholstered his pistol, spun it around his knuckle like a legendary gunslinger, and shot the ribbon in two. It had the resulting effect; both the casino patrons and the employees watching from the Propaganda department erupted in a crazed applause, hooting and cheering for their beloved overlord.

Hell, even the _loader bots_ were clapping. Axton joined in, though his smirk had faded to a distinct grimace under his helmet. But just as Jack turned yet again toward the camera, grinning his distinct, shark-like grin, everything went black.

A panicked hush fell over the room. Then the screens lit up, a bright red message projecting a warning in all caps throughout the darkened office.

_HELIOS IS UNDER ATTACK. PROCEED CALMLY TO ASSIGNED CLUSTER POINTS._

The accompanying alarms were _loud._ Emergency lights began their strobe-like effect, flickering chaotically overhead. It was a wonder how the employees were supposed to find their way to the exits in the chaos, but sure enough, the group began to move en masse toward the elevators, almost climbing over each other in their haste.

And as will most real emergencies, when lives were actually on the line, people _changed_. There was no reason for ass kissing and back stabbing anymore. Life or death situations brought out the true side of people, and Axton was now seeing the Hyperion devotees for who they really were. And they were _scared._

“What do we do?”

A familiar woman in a pencil skirt had rushed his way. Axton ignored a flicker of remorse as he stared at her, before he passed his gaze over the many terrified expressions that were now looking to him for guidance. He thought he’d enjoy this moment — seeing them at last reduced to nothing, forced to finally respect him. But instead, he felt sick.

“The loader bots,” he barked, gesturing across the room. “Follow their lead. Stay close. They will keep you safe.”

A frightened nod was her thanks. She followed his instructions, and Axton stumbled back a step, watching momentarily as the bots near the entrance began to herd the group in a surprisingly orderly fashion. He stole a breath. Then another.

_Okay._

Axton pivoted, advancing swiftly toward the back of the room. Rhys’ office door was still shut, but a panel to the right of it flashed upon his approach. Seeming to acknowledge his presence, the light flickered from red to green, and the door clicked open, granting him entry. And as he pressed a hand to its surface, he was immediately struck by the sound of loud, pounding, anthemic music.

The office was dimly lit, with none of the flashing emergency lights, and Rhys, thankfully, was still at his desk. His legs were kicked up, and he leaned far back, fingers laced together behind his head. His eyes were closed, but his head bobbed gently to the music; he was utterly absorbed in the deafening beats around him. Axton paused, taking note of how Rhys adorably shrivelled his nose to match the almost punk rock feel of the song.

The Handsome Jackpot opening had been a triumphant moment — a success, really — and here was Rhys, alone, listening to music. Axton’s heart clenched, but he was quick to shake it off.

_Focus._

“Mister Strongfork!”

Rhys’ expression twisted with annoyance, and he gazed toward Axton with a frown. Axton lifted his helmet, enough to furrow his eyebrows in a wordless explanation of the urgency of his interruption. Upon recognizing his friend — and the lights and alarms in the office beyond — Rhys’ eyes snapped wide. His feet immediately dropped to the floor.

“What’s happening?”

“There has been an attack,” Axton shouted over the din. “You need to come with me — _now.”_

Rhys rose. He tensed, glancing over his desk before rubbing at his slacks in a panicked motion.

“Right. Okay. Let’s get up to the—”

“The penthouse is compromised,” Axton moved into the room, reaching for Rhys’ shoulder. The cybernetic man met his stare, stiffening at his touch. “This is _big._ You need to follow me, and stay close. Got it?”

Rhys’ expression flickered with fear. He swallowed, shook himself, and firmly nodded.

“Just stay close.”

Upon stepping back into the open office, Axton checked on the evacuation underway in the distance. The loader bots were still distracted with their task of directing the other Hyperion employees, leaving him open to lead Rhys away and into the back hallways of the department. Rhys had listened carefully, straying only a few steps behind as they rushed into the darkened corridors. The alarms were ever present here, but dulled slightly, enough for Rhys to slip close and voice his concerns.

“What kind of attack?”

“Unsure,” Axton lied. “But it’s coordinated. I’ve heard reports of incidents in the Hub.”

“The Hub?” Rhys wavered. “Axton, my employees might head—”

Axton gently grasped Rhys’ forearm, tugging him close to speak more clearly into his ear.

“Rhys, we need to focus on _your_ safety right now. The loader bots will help them.”

This didn’t seem to appease Rhys. He glanced once, twice over his shoulder, but he at least fell quiet, obediently following behind Axton.

The service elevator was empty. Axton breathed a heavy sigh of relief, carefully guiding Rhys into the centre once the car arrived. Selecting the floor, his pulse pounded ever thunderously in his eardrums. He dwelled at the panel longer than necessary, finding it difficult to even look at Rhys now that they had made it to this point. It was only a matter of time. Rhys would connect the dots. He would figure everything out, and Axton would have to draw the gun from his holster to continue them on their way.

But _could_ he?

Axton flinched wildly as the alarms in the elevator ceased blaring overhead. With a frown, he turned in question, and froze upon catching Rhys with his ECHO-Eye strobing a brilliant blue.

“We know there’s an emergency,” Rhys explained with a shrug, having noticed Axton’s anxious stare. “Don’t need to go deaf, too.”

He straightened in surprise, but again fell still upon noticing the pistol held carefully in Rhys’ hand. The other man gripped it with purpose, aiming it downward with his finger off the trigger. Like he _knew_ how to hold it. Axton’s gaze followed the gun with fresh unease as Rhys maneuvered it into his flesh hand, eyes tracing its shape as if it were some foreign object that didn’t belong.

“I thought you didn’t—”

_“Rhysie. Kitten.”_

The words froze on Axton’s tongue. He glanced sharply to the projection over Rhys’ cybernetic palm, an image that danced with the auditory feedback of Jack’s voice.

_“Where are you?”_

“Safe. I’m with Alex.” Rhys hummed, sounding confident despite the flicker of worry in his expression. “What’s going on, Jack?

 _Shit._ Axton did his best to casually drop his hand to his hip, reaching desperately for the device. It swung like a pendulum, avoiding his grasp. _Shit, shit, shit._

 _“Fucking loader bots.”_ Jack’s voice snarled, joined by the _crack, crack, crack_ of gunfire in the background. _“Wait, what? Alex? Kitten, stay put. I’ve got your position. You need to—”_

Axton at last gripped and thumbed at the device. The call immediately erupted with static before cutting out, and Rhys cried out in pain. He stumbled against the wall, thrusting his flesh hand to his eye; Axton spun toward him in surprise. The pistol dropped, clattering across the floor. Then Rhys was falling, and Axton barely had time to catch him before he joined the gun on the cold metal below.

“Holy fuck,” Rhys whimpered, scrabbling for purchase in Axton’s arms. “What was _that?”_

He lifted his head, face twisted in agony. A solitary teardrop of blood trickled away from his ECHO-Eye. Axton’s breath stuttered; he leaned forward to slip an arm around Rhys’ waist.

“Rhys, are you okay?”

“I—” he paused, weakly scanning about the elevator. “My eye… My fucking _eye_ is out. I can’t see through it.”

Axton instinctively pulled Rhys close, and the other man willingly leaned into his chest. He once again pressed his hand over his eye, a motion that almost had Axton snarling into his hair. _It should be fine,_ she’d said. _Fucking bitch._

“Just hold on to me,” Axton instructed. “I’ll get you to safety.”

“Jack is coming,” Rhys murmured, and his voice seemed to grow quiet. “We need to find Jack.”

“He won’t get here fast enough, Rhys. But I know somewhere safe.”

“No,” Rhys frantically, _groggily_ shook his head. “You don’t understand. He—”

The elevator came to a jerky halt; Rhys slipped forward and nearly jerked free from Axton’s grasp. Axton dropped to a knee in effort to keep him from slipping out of his arms, but the other man had gone limp. He slowly eased Rhys down, turning him over only to find that he was completely unconscious.

“Rhys? _Fuck.”_ Axton cursed. He gently patted at his cheek, which did nothing to rouse the other man. “Rhys!”

Axton dropped a hand to his hip, quickly disabling the jammer. At this, Rhys’ tense frame seemed to relax.

He stepped over Rhys’ prone frame, chancing enough of a peek beyond the elevator doors to confirm the pathway was clear. Then he stepped back, and folded his hands under Rhys, gingerly lifting him into his arms.

“I’m sorry,” he growled, gazing down toward the bloody tear drying against Rhys’ cheek. “I didn’t know it would… _fuck.”_

If this was Lilith’s plan all along, Axton had some choice words, and maybe a few bullets, to share with her when this was all over. Until then, he cradled Rhys as gently as he could, ignoring the swell in his chest when Rhys’ head rocked to the side and came to a rest against his shoulder.

The rest of the route was mostly abandoned. The traversal to the shuttle, the shuttle ride itself, and the second elevator down into the storage levels all passed without incident, leaving Axton feeling peculiarly nervous about his bizarre stroke of luck. He descended further into the maintenance levels, and not even the normal robotic staff were around. It was strange. Unnerving.

But as he made the final approach to the storage room, a familiar sight stepped into view, providing the barest of relief against the itch at the back of his neck.

“About damn time.”

Axton merely grunted his response to the soldier clad in red armour. The Crimson Raider moved out of the doorway, head tilted in Rhys’ direction.

“That’s him?”

“Yeah. Let’s get out of here.”

The raider said nothing, turning to lead the way into the room. Another raider awaited him, lurking just inside the entrance.

“We need to prep him for travel. Put him here.”

Axton followed the first man to the back of the room, kneeling at the point where he was directed to carefully lay Rhys out on the floor. He was particularly gentle with his head, worriedly stroking a hand over his cheek to rub away the blood. The unconscious man did not wake, but his eyebrows pinched together at Axton’s touch.

The raider crouched on Rhys’ other side, clipping a device onto his vest. He then moved to the fast travel machine, manipulating the interface to adjust the coordinates. Axton watched in silence, eyes flickering between the raider, the explosives strapped to the machine, and Rhys.

“Ready?”

Axton let go of his breath.

“…yeah,” he answered in a croak. “Do it.”

A flash filled the room. Rhys almost seemed to _glow,_ his entire body illuminated by a near blinding blue. Then as if by magic, some science that Axton had never been able to comprehend, his form shifted, drifting into motes of light that swirled into the machine, disappearing in an instant.

And then he was gone. Axton’s stomach turned over; he stared at the floor as shame and relief swirled through his gut. He barely moved when the raider paused to press a fast travel pass into his hand.

“I’ll go next. Your pass triggers the countdown, so you’ll have to go last.”

He mutely nodded. In the next instant, the first raider was gone. Axton squeezed the pass in his fingers.

“You okay?”

With a brief glance over his shoulder, Axton hummed a weak response.

“I’m fine. Let’s—”

A series of gunshots cracked through the room; his shield flared under the successive hits. Axton cursed, ducking to the side, and quickly darted for cover behind the line of storage racks along the wall. The remaining raider had turned to fire on the pair of loader bots crowding in through the doorway, giving a surprised shout of “what the fuck!?” But another couple of _cracks_ and a heavy _thud_ signified the unfortunate man’s quick demise.

Axton pressed his back against a crate, feeling his heart race. How in the hell? He hadn’t seen _any_ bots on that level. How had they—

 _Shit. Rhys’ tracker._ Disabling the jammer must have allowed the cybernetics to reboot.

Axton double checked his clip, crouching low against the storage racks. His bulk was obscured, but the room was relatively small — it wouldn’t be long before the duo of loader bots flanked him.

He carefully peered out from where he hid behind the crate, only able to see the feet and legs of the bots. They had entered the room, coming to stand where the fallen raider’s body was laid out, but did not appear to be carrying out a search. Axton bristled with concern, sparing a quick glance toward the fast travel station to gauge the distance and his chances, when distinct footsteps echoed through the aisles. His eyes drew back toward the bots, locking onto the very familiar sneakers worn by the man that had arrived to stand with them.

“I know you’re in here, Harkon. Be a good boy and come on out.”

Axton’s blood froze in his veins. He hunkered lower, catching only a glimpse of the casually attired Hyperion President standing two aisles over. At the lack of a response, Jack let loose a seething exhale, starting his way through the room at an agonizingly slow pace. 

“I _knew_ it,” he continued, voice slipping into a furious hiss. “I _fucking_ knew it. There was something about you…”

Again, Axton hazarded a glance to the fast travel machine. It was too little, too late — Jack was closer to the machine than he was now. As he reached the end of the aisle, Jack paused, presumably having also noticed the object of Axton’s intent.

“…oh, kiddo. You just went and made the stupidest mistake of your pathetic, shitstain of a life.”

He was starting to believe that was true. Axton braced a hand against the floor, settling back onto his haunches. Between Jack and the two loader bots, he didn’t stand much of a chance. But hell if he wasn’t going out without a fight.

“You have no idea what I’m going to do to you,” Jack seethed. “All of the ways I’m going to pick you apart. You’ll talk before long. With each strip of flesh, you’ll tell me more. And when your eye sockets are empty but for the shredded, bloody nerves…when your hands reach but have no tendons with which to grasp… when your tongue is the last appendage you have left… you’ll tell me what you did with my Rhysie.”

_You’ll never take me alive._

But _gods,_ did he feel alive. This was what he was missing — the intensity of battle. The pressure of having to make snap decisions that could very well result in his death. It set his skin on fire. And to face off with Handsome Jack himself? Axton shuddered, lowering his eyes to the pistol now clutched in his hand.

“Ever heard of scaphism, Harkon?” Jack went on. “Oh, boy, it’s going to be _slow,_ it’s going to be _painful,_ and I’m going to enjoy every goddamn minute of it… Then I’m going to have you reduced to a fine, red mist—”

“How the fuck are you here?” Axton spat, at last losing control of his patience. “You were at the damn casino!”

A pause. Jack snorted a disbelieving, bitter laugh.

“That wasn’t me, you fucking imbecile.”

 _What?_ Axton traced the hexagonal pattern beneath his knee, feeling the sting of quiet betrayal at the lack of provided intel. Lilith’s words rang through his skull. _Are you sure it was Jack?_

“I gotta give it to you, you did your job perfectly.” Jack’s voice lilted with bitter appreciation. “Definitely had Cade impressed with that assassin stunt. But shit, goes to show that the Crimson fuckheads are getting pretty desperate, huh? I mean, I know you’re all _bandits,_ but I didn’t expect you to kill one of your own to get to me. Power move, I’ll give you that.”

“What? I didn’t—”

Axton stiffened. _No._

“No, shit,” Jack barked a genuine laugh. “You didn’t know? Hah! Oh, Roland is playing _dirty_ for once!”

He’d dwelled on it at the time. Considered that maybe, _maybe_ it hadn’t been a corporate assassin. After all, he’d been incapable. Amateurish. And who was hurting badly for professional soldiers but the damn Crimson Raiders?

_“…shit.”_

“You got that right, kiddo,” Jack growled, and Axton was alarmed to hear his voice had moved closer. “Now you’re going to get me to Rhys, or I’m going to hang you from your fucking eyelids.”

Axton braced. Jack took another step.

Then a ball of fire _erupted_ in the room. Axton was forced backward onto his ass. Even Jack staggered, knocking into one of the storage racks. While the other man cursed, struggling to regain his ground, Axton climbed to his feet, managing to catch a glimpse of the bright figure at the centre of the room.

Lilith was wreathed in flame. Her hair twisted and flowed in a hypnotic dance overhead. The markings on her arm pulsed with light. From her back stretched a pair of magnificent, fiery wings. Her entire being strobed with energy, bringing the temperature of the very air in the room up by several degrees.

Now _there_ was a Siren of legend.

“Lilith…” Jack’s voice came in a strangled snarl. “You goddamn _bitch.”_

“Heya, Jack,” Lilith smirked. Her gaze flickered toward where Axton had edged around the storage rack. “Get out of here, kid. I’ve got this handled.”

_“No!”_

The room exploded with gunfire. Axton didn’t stop to look. He bolted past Lilith’s frame, which had flickered and shimmered with a purple hue, a force field that seemed to cover his path. His fingers fumbled for the pass; he manipulated the machine with surprising dexterity. And in the last instant, just as the blue light began to shimmy over his frame, he glanced over his shoulder, just in time to catch Handsome Jack’s wrathful glare from behind the active loader bots across the room.

“You run then, Harkon,” Jack shouted, voice rigid. His mask was twisted, contorted with fury. “You try to hide. I’m going to _enjoy_ hunting you.”

And everything went white.


	8. The Frozen Wastes

When the blue light faded away, and the cold, sterile walls of Helios space station disappeared, all that replaced it was  _ white.  _ Blinding, all-consuming,  _ freezing  _ white. For a choking moment, Axton worried that his fears had been realized at last, that the machine had malfunctioned during his transfer, or that the explosives had gone off before he managed to materialize in full. But then his boots slipped, found traction, and he sunk knee deep into frigid snow, nearly dropping face first into the powder blanketing the floor below.

Axton staggered, head snapping around in a quick scan of his surroundings. The icy cavern in which he found himself on his hands and knees was dim, lit only by sparse string lights tacked up in a slapdash fashion along the uneven walls. The room itself appeared to be an entryway, a haphazard shelter constructed beneath thick, looming ice sheets above. They creaked and groaned their complaints against the sheet metal, and Axton gazed toward the roof overhead, wondering briefly if the reinforced structures were to be trusted. Behind him, the snow covered the ground in an arcing drift that formed within the mouth of an open doorway, and beyond — only white.

_ Where the fuck? _

“Whoever left the fucking door open is getting a smack to the side of the head.”

A hand gripped his arm; Axton swivelled back in alarm. The Crimson Raider that had been with him on Helios appeared, moving forward to help him onto his feet. He reached out to brush the loose snow off of Axton’s armour, then, satisfied that Axton appeared to be in one piece, shuffled past to the exit to kick a path before wrenching the door shut.

“Shit’s sake. And where’s Dax?”

“Dax?”

An involuntary shiver passed through Axton; some odd sensation turned over in his stomach. He stumbled a step, and the raider again lurched forward to steady him. Axton grasped onto his arm in response, as remnants of nausea from his teleportation yet gripped his system, far worse than any elevator ride ever had.

“Slow down. Take a breath.” The helmeted man looked him over. “The soldier I left with you. He was supposed to arrive first.”

He gestured to the fast travel machine.

“Oh,” Axton shook his head, an attempt to throw off the fog and regain his senses. “Uh…dead. Jack showed up with some loader bots.”

The raider tensed. “What? I thought he was off—”

“Yeah, well, so did I,” Axton hissed, feeling a twitch in his lip. “Where’s Rhys?”

“Who the fuck is Rhys?”

Hostility rippled through Axton’s frame. He angled his head sharply toward the raider, almost in a sneer, although he imagined he was receiving the very same look in return, having just dispensed the news of the man’s dead comrade. It was hard to tell, what with the stupid fucking helmet still in place.

“The Hyperion kid.”

“Oh. In there.”

The raider indicated toward the next room. From where he stood, Axton could see that the space opened into a much larger cavern. He immediately trudged free from the snow, casting a gaze around in scrutiny as he moved into what appeared to be the main area of the arctic hideout. The setup inside was meagre. There was a small bathroom unit opposite the entrance, a number of tables covered in miscellaneous weapons cartridges and ammo boxes, and a few unoccupied bunks — one of which seemed to have a strange oil stain across the sheets. There was also a peculiar number of CL4P-TP units about, all deactivated and in various states of disassembly. Ignoring them, Axton spared a quick glance throughout, stiffening as his eyes settled at the far end of the room. Here, on a sunken couch across from a roaring makeshift furnace, was Rhys.

Axton crossed to him with haste, scanning the cybernetic man in concern. Rhys was still unconscious, but otherwise no worse for the wear. Still, Axton couldn’t help but grumble at the sight; he appeared to have been dropped into place rather casually. Any snow had been swept off his frame, but barely — leaving cold, wet stains along his clothing. Rhys shivered in his sleep, curling in on himself for warmth. Something vicious and heated worked its way through Axton’s chest as he arrived at his side; he crouched next to the sofa to card fingers through Rhys’ hair.

“Rhys,” he hummed, frowning at the sight of the other man’s eyebrows pinching together. “Hey. Can you hear me?”

“Sorry, dude. He won’t wake up.”

The tension in his chest found purchase, gripped tighter. Axton’s lips instinctively tightened into a snarl as he glanced toward the voice, but he gave a noticeable pause upon spotting the teenaged girl at his side. 

She was a peculiar sight, to say the least. At first glance, she almost seemed like a regular eighteen year old, complete with the rebellious skull plastered across her dress and red hair up in messy pigtails. But between the welder’s goggles on her crown, the Maliwan SMG on her back, and her fully cybernetic arm, everything except her age absolutely screamed _ “vault hunter.” _

Back in familiar company, then.

And then her words registered. Axton fell still. “Why not?”

“We set his neural enhancements to keep him under for now.” She angled her head, hands set onto her hips. “But don’t worry. He’ll be fine.”

“You can control it?”

“Yup,” a wide smile split the young woman’s face in two. “I also rigged up a dead zone for the base. No tracking, no network,  _ nothing.  _ Totally safe, courtesy of  _ yours truly.” _

A quick consult of his ECHO device confirmed it to be true. But Axton did not acknowledge the latter statement, and instead slowly got to his feet, advancing across the few steps between them to tower over the girl. Surprise and uncertainty flickered in her expression; she sank back a step.

“If you can control it,” he hissed. “Then wake him the hell up.”

“Uh… no,” she shrugged, frown twisting with minor irritation. “No can do, man. Orders are to keep him disabled.”

_ “Whose _ orders?”

“Roland’s. He said to wait for his arrival.”

“Where is he then?” Axton snapped. “And why the hell aren’t we in Sanctuary?”

“Security concerns.”

Behind Axton, striding in from the same direction he had arrived, was Roland. The stern commander slowly moved to join the pair, eyes lingering on Rhys’ limp form. He was followed by a scrawny man, who had thick dreads and a long, dark beard below a tight frown. Axton paid little attention to the second vault hunter — except to eye the sniper rifle slung from his shoulders — straightening at Roland’s appearance.

“Sir,” he uttered, voice clipped with restraint.  _ “What _ security concerns?”

“Sanctuary is home to more than just the Crimson Raiders.” Roland supplied him a heavy look. “I can’t risk the lives of civilians until I know more about the target you’ve brought me.”

“Rhys is no threat,” Axton insisted, sparing a quick glance to the couch. “Look at him. He’s—”

“Enhanced. And aside from the tracker, I would not be surprised if he had another few tricks concealed inside that arm of his.”

“And how the hell do  _ you _ know he’s safe?” the sniper drawled, tilting his head. Axton’s forearms twitched in annoyance; he at last gazed toward the man addressing him.

“Who’s asking?”

“I am,” he grunted back. “Now answer the question.”

“Mordecai…” Roland hummed the warning half-heartedly.

Axton sneered. “Trust me. He’s fine. He had a pistol, but he dropped it. Other than that, he’s harmless.”

“That so?” Mordecai smirked. “How do you know? You get a little…  _ close  _ to our friend here?”

“That was my job,” Axton spat back. “Get close. Trusted. Do what none of you managed to do before now.”

Hostility rippled in the air between them; Mordecai’s lip curled and he seemed to ease back and look Axton over, to gauge the threat. Axton remained still under the scrutiny, shoulders taut with energy, having little concern to dispense on the stranger. He must have been skilled to have made it this far as a vault hunter — a fact that Axton would always respect — but his unwarranted aggression had Axton’s hackles up.

“Enough,” Roland grunted. “Gaige? Let’s wake him up.”

The red headed girl that had stepped back during the exchange climbed down from where she had been resting against a table, again advancing on the couch. Axton flinched, then pointedly stepped between her and Rhys. A fresh look of uncertainty yet flickered across her face; she glanced to Roland for direction.

“Is there a problem, soldier?”

“Hold the fuck up. You’ve got some explaining to do, first.”

Something minutely shifted in Roland’s expression.

“I beg your pardon?”

“Watch your tone, bro,” Mordecai muttered. “Roland won’t take shit from a punk like you.”

Fresh indignation rolled through the tight muscles in Axton’s back. “After what I went through up on Helios, I deserve to know.”

Roland paused, scanning Axton’s face in some silent moment of contemplation. It was a value Axton actually admired in the man; he had quiet wisdom that dictated his actions. Having witnessed the behaviour of the other Crimson Raiders first hand, Axton had realized early on that this surprising strength was the only thing holding the shitty little army together.

“That is fair. What is your question?”

“Jack said that the merc that made an attempt on him recently was a Crimson Raider. Is that true?”

A beat passed.

“I’m afraid so, yes.”

Something thick and heavy formed in Axton’s gut. His hands tightened into fists. “Why the hell didn’t you tell me there were others?”

“I didn’t feel it was important.”

“What’s it to you, anyway?” Mordecai grunted. “Upset you weren’t the only mole?”

“No,” Axton hissed, eyebrows furrowed. “Because if I knew who he was, then I wouldn’t have shot the fucker in the neck.”

“You  _ what?” _

“I thought he was from Vladof or some shit. I wouldn’t have done it if I knew—”

“Why did you try to stop someone from killin’ Jack in the first place?”

“He took a hostage. I had to make a move,” Axton growled defensively. “And if I hadn’t, I wouldn’t have ended up so close to Jack, and we wouldn’t be having this stupid fucking conversation now, would we?”

“So,” Roland nodded, eyes sweeping along Axton’s face. “I suppose it worked out in the end then, didn’t it?”

Axton’s breath faltered. “…the man is dead, sir.”

“And apparently so is the raider that went up to assist with the transfer. This is a war, son. People will die.”

He resisted the very human shudder that nearly shook its way through his core. It wasn’t as if this was new to Axton — in fact, he had seen, and  _ done,  _ a lot worse. But for some strange reason, he hadn’t been able to predict such a move from a man like Roland. How many sacrifices was he willing to accept in the pursuit of their goals? And where did that place Axton on the axis between  _ useful  _ and  _ expendable? _

“You should’ve told me.”

“I would have. But we weren’t sure they were still alive. We sent a few in just before you, but all of them went quiet. You were the only one that maintained steady contact.”

“I lacked intel.”

“You knew what you needed to know,” Roland replied, and Axton did not fail to notice the tension forming in his voice. “Looking for allies up there only would have distracted you. Now. Are you satisfied? Can we proceed?”

Axton’s lips parted in argument, but nothing came out. Conflict roared in his skull — the demand for  _ answers  _ tormented by the need to  _ move on, get on with it, just fucking get through this.  _ His job had not ended with returning to the Raiders. They still had Jack to deal with. But his unfortunate bond to the unconscious man on the couch was leaving him in a rather precarious position.

His concerns also went beyond simply being too attached to Rhys, from what he could see reflected in the combined expressions of the vault hunters before him. Mordecai had already guessed at his predicament, and Roland’s expression drifted into some space between suspicion and impatience. So at last Axton relented, lifting his head with a scowl.

“…fine. So where are we?”

Roland did not look angry, but there was some hint of hardened concern in his features. But then his shoulders sagged ever slightly, as he, too, seemed to let the topic slide.

“Far South East in the Frozen Wastes,” he replied. “Far from prying eyes. The last place Jack would think to look.”

“You’d be surprised…” Axton sighed. “The last place, maybe. But he  _ will  _ look. And he won’t stop until he finds him.”

His gaze slowly, mournfully returned to the man behind him. Rhys no longer stirred against the cold, resting almost peacefully on the sofa. Clouds of frozen vapour appeared and disappeared with each breath, but he was otherwise still. As he watched, Axton’s heart palpated oddly; his fingers twitched. He let go a drained, hollow sigh, and offered a nod.

“…all right. Let’s do this.”

“Okay, Gaige,” Roland instructed. “It’s time.”

* * *

  
  
It turned out the process wasn’t immediate. Gaige disabled whatever dampeners she had in place, but Rhys did not wake. He stirred, turning fitfully as if from a bad dream, but his eyelids no more than fluttered at the disturbance. And as tempted as Axton was to reach out and jostle him, to comfort him when he realized where he was, he left him alone, not wanting to do any more possible damage than the jammer might already have done. The others agreed to let him come around naturally, after some insistence on Axton’s part.

While they waited, Roland gestured for him to follow. Axton was hesitant to leave Rhys’ side, even made sure they found a warm jacket to slip over his shoulders, but ultimately surrendered. He was led to a storage crate, inside of which were his personal belongings. He carried them into the bathroom unit to swap with his Hyperion kit, and couldn’t help but smile his appreciation upon opening the crate, fingertips ghosting over the rough textures of his gear. His touch came to rest on his turret casing, which almost seemed to provide a strange  _ warmth  _ amidst the bitter cold of the frozen hideout.

“Hey there, babe,” he muttered, gently patting the case. “Didja miss me?”

Axton dressed slowly, methodically, and everything fell into place as it should. His kit was a little slapdash, having had to replace various pieces of armour with what materials were on hand at the time, but it was all  _ his,  _ damn it. There was something wonderful about being back in his clothes, with his scent, his comforts, at last being able to ditch the obnoxious colours of his Hyperion gear.

He kept the shield, however. And the gun. But everything else that the Crimson Raiders couldn’t make use of was going straight into the large fire pit in the central room.

Once all the straps and plating of his armour were in place, Axton bent to retrieve the final pieces of his collection. He paused momentarily to run his touch along the discarded, slightly heat-warped metal pieces that were once his rank marker, before continuing along to the chain resting beside it. He lifted the necklace overhead, slipping it over his chest. The ring and dog tag fell into place where they belonged, just to the right of his heart.

With these, and his turret secured against his lower back, Axton sank back against the wall of the tiny bathroom in relief. Finally, whole again. It offered some mild comfort, which he desperately needed at this point. Just some sense of normalcy — of having his feet on solid ground where he felt secure and safe and strong. But it was not to last.

He was not prepared for what came next. He suspected he never would be. So when a rapping came at the door, he did not even flinch, almost resigned to his fate. But when the door slid open at his gesture to reveal the Siren, Lilith, his breath snagged at the sight.

“You’re…”

She looked fine, all things considered. There was a small scratch on her cheek. Her hair stuck to her forehead in sweat slicked locks. Her clothing was slightly askew. But otherwise, she was whole.

“Heya, soldier,” she nodded.

“You made it back fine,” Axton hummed. “Everything went okay?”

She grinned, but it was half-hearted. Worn out.

“Oh, yeah. No big deal. I can handle Jack.”

Axton frowned, recalling the brief interaction. He hadn’t witnessed much, but it was enough to leave a thought of uncertainty niggling at the back of his mind.

“He knew you.”

Lilith’s eyebrow rose. “Yeah.”

“So you have a history.”

“You could say that.”

Silence lingered in the air between them, and Axton left it there, hoping Lilith would rush to fill the void. But she offered no explanations, and Axton again felt a sting of irritation. This wasn’t his fight — and thus he wasn’t required to know everything. But when would that lack of information be his downfall? As if it almost already hadn’t been…

_ Are you sure it was Jack? _

“Who was the man at the casino?”

Understanding flashed in Lilith’s eyes. She shifted her weight, resting a hand on her hip.

“His name is Timothy. Jack likely has a lot of doubles by now, but he usually only trusts these things to one man.”

“Timothy,” Axton straightened. The name was peculiar. Unfitting of such a role, in some sense. “And why wasn’t I warned?”

“I wasn’t sure if he was still around,” Lilith admitted with a sigh. “I didn’t expect him to stay onboard after Elpis. Nisha, definitely. Even Wilhelm. But…”

_ “Wonderful.” _ The reply came out sharply, punctuated with the surge of annoyance at all the familiar names — ones he had to come to discover on his own, despite Lilith having such knowledge. “Is there anyone else I should know about?

Lilith again paused, scanning Axton in quiet judgment. She folded her arms over, lengthening her spine in an attempt to meet his height and mutually glare back. She failed, but after at last having witnessed her Siren form in full force, he was more than willing to give her credit for being, well,  _ maybe  _ a bit of a badass.

“Your job with Hyperion is done,” she growled. “What else would you need to know?”

At a loss, Axton did not immediately respond. He wavered, tempted as he was to summon the various insults collecting at the tip of his tongue, but the moment was interrupted, as the red-headed vault hunter, Gaige, appeared in their peripherals.

“Hey,” she gave a small wave, seeming to notice the flare of discontent between them. “Roland said to let you know — he’s waking up.”

Lilith gave him one last curt look before turning to follow Gaige. Axton’s foot slipped down onto the floor, willing him forward, but he noticeably hesitated. He leaned forward just enough to glimpse Rhys on the sofa, feeling a sharp pang in his chest as he watched Mordecai guide him to slowly sit up. The cybernetic man blinked groggily, seemingly caught in some half-asleep haze, and Axton found that he could not move.

He still wasn’t ready. But he couldn’t let them interrogate him alone.

So quietly, slowly, he approached the small group collecting around the sofa, taking care to linger at enough of a distance that he did not yet catch the attention of the drowsy man.

“Where…?”

Rhys set his feet down, pressing his elbows onto his knees to palm his face. His body lurched slightly, as if fighting off undulations of nausea. Then he was lifting his head, and even from where he stood, Axton could see the blinking light of his ECHO-Eye. Back to himself, then. Rhys scanned the vault hunters surrounding him, stiffened, and then returned his face to his hands.

“Well,  _ great. _ Hello, Roland. Lilith.”

His voice was quiet, raspy, but somehow still tight with restrained anger.

“It appears introductions are unnecessary,” Roland nodded.

“Oh, I know who you are,” Rhys replied icily, not sparing him another glance. “What you’ve done.”

“Funny, coming from you,” Lilith laughed curtly. “Remind me who you are again? Jack’s boy toy?”

“Rhys Strongfork. Head of Propaganda.” Rhys’ answer was matter-of-fact. Businesslike. There was no fear, something that strangely did not surprise Axton. “And my relationship to Jack is none of your business.”

This seemed to displease Lilith. Her grin faded ever slightly; her eyes narrowed. “We’ll see about that.”

“So Jack was right,” Rhys ignored her, scanning over the pair with a tired gaze. “I guess I lost that bet.”

“What do you mean?” Roland’s question was stiff; Axton glanced toward him with unease. The normally stoic commander looked almost taken aback as he watched Rhys casually lift his cybernetic hand to inspect it, as if bored by his presence. It appeared that the unsettling effect of Rhys’ quietly hostile demeanour was beginning to take hold. Axton was simply glad to see it wasn’t only him that was put off by the personality shift.

“He had concerns that the Raiders would attempt this stunt. I assured him you didn’t have the resources. It appears I was wrong.”

“We didn’t, to be fair,” Lilith smirked. “At least, not until Axton here came along.”

“Axton?”

_ Shit. _

And at last, Rhys’ hostile gaze turned his way, following Lilith’s gesture. Axton forced himself to remain still as Rhys snagged onto his frame, watching as the other man’s eyes edged wide and his lips parted with a sharp intake of breath. Axton schooled his expression, scanning Rhys’ face in a desperate bid to absorb his reaction.

Because no words were uttered. But he hadn’t expected them. What he expected was exactly what he got — a series of minute changes of expression at which Rhys was so proficient; he shifted through rapid-fire considerations onto which Axton had trouble grasping. There were subtle hints of surprise, anger, maybe something even akin to fear. But he at last settled on bitter resignation, eyes fluttering as he sank back and turned his head away.

“Ah,” The noticeable disdain in his voice struck Axton in the chest.  _ “Ax.” _

Rhys’ fingers curled around his heart, grasped, squeezed. For a brief moment Axton was back in that elevator, pressing Rhys’ shoulders to the wall and fumbling lips along his jawline. Tracing his tongue along the shell of his ear before his nickname slipped free. And then in the next instant he was again standing awkwardly amongst the smattering of Crimson Raiders and Rhys, the latter of which had yet pointedly avoided looking his way.

He’d hoped it would be different. That there would be rage. That there would be yelling. Some passionate response that Axton could properly address. And while fury certainly seemed to ripple just beneath the surface, Rhys was remarkably restrained. His quick acceptance of his fate was unnerving, like so much of his behaviour as of late.

“You lead Propaganda?” Roland asked, thankfully breaking the tension crackling through the air. “Haven’t seen a lot of that on Pandora, lately. I suppose you found something off planet more deserving of your attention?”

“Pardon?” Rhys passed a disinterested glance over Roland, one sharpened with incredulity. “What do you mean  _ seen  _ it?”

“The billboards,” Mordecai grunted. “Videos. ECHOcasts. You know, the shit Jack used to cram down our throats?”

“Oh, for crying—” Rhys palmed his face. “Our work is still here, you morons. You just don’t see it.”

He meant  _ real  _ propaganda, Axton realized. The kind that goes unnoticed — a simple suggestion whispered into the ear of unsuspecting targets. The kind that  _ actually worked. _ And again, Axton wondered if this was a change in Hyperion’s tactics that only took place  _ after  _ Rhys had taken control of his department.

“So if Hyperion is still focused on Pandora, where the hell is Jack?”

“Still here. Still around. What, you think he got bored or something?”

“Distracted. After all, the tremors have stopped. So did the obnoxious broadcasts.”

“Ah,” Rhys shrugged. “They were ineffective. Hyperion has been pursuing other opportunities since then.”

“Other opportunities…”

“Yes.”

Simply that. Rhys offered nothing else.

“There’s got to be more to this.”

“Why?”

“Because this is  _ Jack.  _ He’s obsessive. Driven. He doesn’t just  _ stop.” _

“Very true.”

“So then what happened?” Lilith spat, having at last lost her patience with Rhys’ empty responses. “What happened to make Jack just up and drop  _ everything?” _

Rhys lifted his head to scan Lilith as if seeing her for the first time — and the act left him looking  _ bored.  _ He rolled his eyes, mouth lengthening into an innocent smile. It was a smile that Axton was beginning to recognize. A smile that meant  _ trouble. _ “That’s simple,” Rhys hummed, slowly tilting his head to one side. “He met  _ me.” _


	9. Mind Games

“Hey.”

Axton almost flinched at the sound of Mordecai’s voice. The sniper came quietly trudging toward him from behind, looking almost goofy in his attempt to navigate the knee-deep snow, and Axton merely watched him in silence as he made progress. His appearance initially had Axton’s hackles up, but he was quick to lower his defences once he noticed the other man was not approaching with any kind of ill intent. And really, at this point, he needed all the allies he could find.

With an oddly laboured sigh, Axton turned back to the previous object of his attention: the blinding white vistas that stretched far from where he stood. For some undetermined amount of time before Mordecai’s arrival, he had simply been staring blindly into the wasteland just outside the back door of the temporary base, lost in heavy thought. It was almost peaceful, as the void indulged his concerns and asked for nothing in return — they merely existed in harmony amidst the bitter cold.

There had been a small temptation to be annoyed by the sniper’s disruption, irritation for the fact that he had decided to interrupt his brief moment of respite, but Axton suddenly found that he was simply too tired to argue. He imagined it had something to do with the late hour, the call of _sleep, rest,_ but it definitely wasn’t that.

“…hey.”

“You doin’ okay?”

Axton stiffened, stealing another quick glance of the sniper in sneaking suspicion. Mordecai casually rubbed his hands together, blowing warmth through his fingers, so Axton only shrugged.

“I’m fine. Worn out, I suppose. Long day.”

“It’s the kid, isn’t it?”

Another heavy sigh. There it was.

Their first meeting had been tense, to say the least. Mordecai’s sharp responses had left him with a sour taste in his mouth. But a fresh, darkened look in the vault hunter’s direction had him almost immediately softening. He expected judgement, or hostility, but Mordecai only offered a frown of concern that appeared remarkably authentic.

As much as he could tell, anyway, what with the goggles and hair obscuring most of his face.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Nothing — I just… You seem pretty attached,” Mordecai raised his arms in surrender, as though he was anticipating Axton’s defensive reaction. “Not suggesting anything, bro. Just trying to check on you.”

Axton took a measured breath. Turned back to some distant space far beyond the barren reaches of the frozen wastes.

“It’s complicated.”

“How so?”

“I met Rhys before I met _Jack_ and Rhys. He was a friend before he was a target.”

He didn’t need the full truth. Half of it was sufficient, anyway, if the shift in Mordecai’s expression was anything to go by.

“Dang. That sucks. I guess he’s gonna be pretty pissed, huh?”

The sniper’s tone was noticeably — astonishingly — empathetic. At the lack of any real scrutiny, Axton wondered if he would have to reevaluate his first impression of the vault hunter.

To his credit, Mordecai had all the right to consider Axton a liability. As far as Axton was aware, Mordecai had been part of the Raiders since the beginning, or close to, meaning that Axton was the untrustworthy new guy. And with the complications of undercover work, it wouldn’t have been far-fetched to assume a relationship like Axton and Rhys’ might compromise his integrity, much as Axton would deny it.

But no such accusations were being levelled. Mordecai turned instead to rifle through the satchel at his side, then tossed something in the air toward Axton. He caught the bottle, turning it over in his hand in inspection. His throat bobbed involuntarily at the sight; his mouth immediately thickened with saliva.

“I probably shouldn’t.”

“You might need it,” Mordecai shrugged. “Pretty sure Roland’s on his way out here once he’s done with Hyperion in there.”

He passed Axton a rather sizeable knife, handle first. It slipped easily into place, sending the bottle cap in a graceful arc through the air before it disappeared somewhere into the thick powder beneath their boots. 

“Shit’s tough,” Mordecai continued, accepting his knife back to use on his own beer. “But the things we do aren’t supposed to be easy.”

He reached his arm out. Axton met the toast halfway, almost smirking at the dull “clink” as the bottles touched.

“I’ve done plenty worse in the past,” Axton admitted, pausing to down an icy cold sip. “But it was always to someone else. It was always a stranger.”

“S’Pandora, man,” Mordecai hummed. “Survival of the fittest. But as long as you’re with the Raiders, at least you’re on the right side.”

Axton’s eyelids fluttered shut. He recalled the man he shot, slumping to the floor. The gurgling click in his throat as he choked on his own blood.

“You sure about that?”

A beat passed.

“I have to be, bro.”

There was a note of sadness in his voice. A concealed agony that Axton only managed to latch onto due to his own experience with painful regrets. He took another drink.

“What about you?” he asked. “What brought you here, Mordecai?”

“I’m a vault hunter, man,” he grinned. “A vault brought me here.”

“Hah… Makes sense.”

“And a voice.”

Axton frowned. He pivoted slightly on his heel, lips parted in question, but the opportunity was interrupted by the friction-induced _squelch_ of metal on metal, followed by the soft crunch of powder underfoot.

“Mordecai,” Roland greeted. “Could I have a moment with Axton?”

“Sure thing.”

Mordecai passed along Axton’s front, swiping the bottle from his grasp to slip it back into his bag before reemerging into Roland’s view to head toward the door. Axton nodded his thanks for the gesture, then lapsed back into a respectful stance, head high and back straight by the time Roland arrived at his side.

The door behind them slammed shut. Silence reigned. Axton did not rush to fill the gap, already wary of what his commander was about to say.

“Well, that was…” Roland uttered his disbelief, all the while scanning the horizon. “Interesting.”

Axton smiled weakly. “There are certainly a _few_ adjectives that fail to describe Rhys.”

He noticed the sidelong look Roland gave him. He ignored it.

“We have learned little. He refuses to talk, which is not surprising, given his role with Hyperion. But unfortunate nonetheless.”

“I did not think that information was the goal here.”

“It’s not,” Roland agreed. “But every little bit helps. I have to admit I was naively optimistic when I first saw him.”

“Looks can be deceiving,” Axton laughed weakly. “In so many ways.”

Another nagging pause. But he would not allow his resolve to weaken.

“We’ll simply have to hope the rest of the plan works out.”

“Has Jack made contact?”

“No.”

“There’s been nothing?” Axton blanched, at last facing the other man. “No furious broadcasts? No attacks?”

“Sanctuary’s shields absorbed a few rounds of moonshots.” Roland’s voice tightened. “But they didn’t last very long. And he hasn’t tried anything else.”

Axton sank back. That was either very uncharacteristic of Jack, or a sign of more troubling developments to come.

“So what comes next?”

“We sent Hyperion a message. As soon as Jack agrees to a call, we’ll bring Rhys to Sanctuary, and let him know our demands.”

“It’s safe now?”

Roland jerked his head to the side. “I have Gaige’s assurances, now that she’s accessed his cybernetics directly. That’s enough for me.”

“She’s impressive,” Axton admitted. “She seems fairly capable. I wish I had skills like that at her age. Or now, really.”

“You should see her robot,” Roland smiled. “And I bet she’d love to see that turret of yours.”

A shit eating grin broke across Axton’s face. He reached back under the thick coat he’d managed to steal from a locker to pat at the device where it was snuggled against his spine.

“I mean, who wouldn’t? She’s a babe.”

“You seem very happy to have your gear back.”

“It’s home, you know?” Axton’s hands slipped past his coat, running along his kevlar-lined jacket beneath. “And yeah, it’s great to no longer be a faceless corporate stooge. Even if the food was better up there… And the showers. _Some_ of the people.”

He stiffened. Shit — would Vaughn and Yvette know what he’d done? Or _Nisha—_

“You enjoyed it, then.”

The statement would have been innocent enough, if not for the hint of suspicion in Roland’s tone. Sure enough, as Axton again lifted his head, he was the full focus of Roland’s heavy stare.

“Sir?”

“You were entrusted with a difficult task,” Roland began. “Undercover work is not only stressful for the obvious reasons, but often results in possibly problematic friendships. Relationships…”

“…I’m not a fan of doublespeak, sir.” He did his best not to let the growl slip into his voice. “Is there something you’d like to ask?”

“Is there anything about your time there that might be cause for concern?”

“I’m a professional,” Axton defended. “I brought you Handsome Jack’s fiancé. Is that not sufficient?”

Roland’s eyebrows went up.

“Sufficient for what?”

Frustration began to inch its way in, tugging at the lines of his face.

“You can trust me.”

“That was indeed a concern of mine.”

“In regards to—”

“Strongfork,” Roland blurted. "You seem… overly invested. Close.”

“What do you mean?”

Axton feigned innocence toward Roland’s obscured suggestions, going so far as to quirk an eyebrow to sell the facade. After all, he knew damn well what the man was really asking. He’d heard it countless times in one form or another since he first came to understand it himself. But he also knew Roland’s type. The soldier was reserved. Prideful. _Respectful._ And he wouldn’t have the balls to actually ask — wouldn’t dare to cross that line.

The lack of acknowledgment was sometimes a pity, usually offensive. But in this instance, it suited Axton just fine.

“Are you…”

The question faded away, and Axton’s expression did not waver in the slightest. He straightened, tilted his head ever slightly. Roland was carefully scanning his face, and Axton refused to budge. It was none of his fucking business, anyway.

“Sir?”

Roland relented with an awkward cough, casting his gaze away. “Nothing. Forget I said anything. Carry on.”

“Certainly, sir.” _Thank fuck._ “What are my orders, sir?”

“You’ll need to be debriefed. But there’s time. Get some rest,” Roland waved a hand in dismissal. “You’ll resume your duties tomorrow.”

He snapped his heels, offered a salute, all rather instinctively. It felt disingenuous, but it certainly seemed to appeal to his fellow career soldier.

“Thank you, sir.”

By the time he had retreated back inside, something uncoiled in his stomach. He hadn’t realized the tension that had built up during their exchange, and as he descended into the warm space across from the roaring furnace, he almost bent at a wave of nausea nudging threateningly up his esophagus. He at least managed to hold it in, remaining composed, until Roland passed by and took his leave, presumably returning to Sanctuary. Then he curled slightly, pressing his palms to his knees.

“You good?”

Axton flinched, raising his head. Mordecai stood to his right, in the threshold of a small storage room Axton had previously failed to notice. Rhys was in the corner of the narrow space, glaring back at Axton from where he was sitting on a locked ammo crate.

“Fine, thanks,” Axton uttered. “Gonna get some sleep.”

“Mind taking over for a minute?” Mordecai asked, jerking his head toward Rhys. “Just need to hit the head. I was gonna lock him in here, but...”

He hesitated. Nearly narrowed his eyes. Maybe Mordecai wasn’t on his side after all. But he supposed this moment would have to arrive eventually. Axton grunted his response, stepping past the various debris and CL4P-TP pieces on the floor to exchange places with the scrawny vault hunter.

“Cheers. I’ll be quick.”

“Right…”

Axton’s hand hovered over his digistruct device, primed to summon his pistol to hand; Rhys snagged onto the motion and curtly shook his head.

“Don’t bother,” he murmured. “You could easily disable me without it.”

Rhys’ voice was thick with loathing, and a noticeable inkling of sadness. He was quiet, shifting uncomfortably in place, when Axton finally noticed the restraints that had been slipped around his wrists. His heart palpated at the sight. Now that the interaction had been forced upon them, he allowed himself to really _look_ at Rhys, to absorb his disappointment, his anguish.

And he actually _seemed_ distraught, despite his strong-willed exterior. It was evident enough in the tightness around his eyes, the subtle quakes in his frame. Axton scanned the old, moth-eaten coat he had given him and sighed.

“Are you warm enough?”

“I’m fine,” Rhys snapped. “Stop pretending like you give a shit, _Alex.”_

The iciness of his reply was colder than anything Axton had experienced of the Frozen Wastes thus far. He reached a hand out, paused, dropped it in quiet resignation. And still, Rhys would not look at him.

“…Rhys, I—”

“I do not require an explanation,” Rhys curtly interrupted. “You saw an opportunity and went for it. Well done, you.”

 _“Rhys,”_ Axton exasperated, growing rigid. “It’s not…”

Well, it _was_ like that. But it wasn’t that simple, anymore.

“I’m sorry,” he offered after a few seconds had passed. “I didn’t mean for you to get hurt.”

“Don’t do that.”

Rhys’ tone had turned bitter. Well, _more_ bitter, if that were possible. Axton lifted his head, doing his best not to pinch his eyebrows together as he regarded the irritated, sharpened angles of Rhys’ face.

“Do what?”

“Don’t treat me like I’m some petulant child,” Rhys snarled. “It’s not hard to figure out what happened. If I hadn’t been so intrigued by you, I might’ve even worked it out sooner.”

Axton’s heart rate quickened. He ignored it. Tried to.

“It was never my intention for it to get this far,” Axton insisted. “But I had a mission. And this was the only—”

“I was your meal ticket, huh?” Rhys snapped, at last glancing toward him with narrowed eyes. “I was your shot at success? Your claim to glory?”

“…you were the key to bringing down Jack, yes.”

“And here I just thought you wanted to fuck me. But you were using me for more than that, all along.”

And suddenly, Axton’s hackles were up. His lip curled ever slightly.

“Rhys.”

“What?” Rhys smirked. “You gonna try to tell me you _didn’t_ want that?”

“What are you—”

Rhys abruptly stood. It was then that Axton realized how tight the space was, standing only inches from the other man. He went rigid at the touch of a hand against his abdomen, eyes snapping wide as Rhys’ fingers slipped up his thick coat, over his chest.

“Lie to me, Alex. Tell me you _didn’t_ want to take me for yourself.” Rhys teasingly bit at his lower lip, angling his head in an _oh so tempting_ way. Axton’s eyes traced over his circular tattoo. “That you didn’t want to bend me over the counter like Jack did.”

Something envious and painfully familiar ripped through Axton’s torso. His hands clenched at his sides.

“I reassured Jack, you know,” Rhys hummed. “Told him you were harmless. That you’d never try anything. Because you didn’t have the guts. That you were too afraid of him to take what you _really_ wanted.”

Tension continued to cross over through his muscles, leaving a hardened path through his core, but Axton said nothing in response, only able to grit his teeth. He did not feel the ache behind the tightness in his jaw.

“That you only got up the courage in the elevator because you were wasted. But the sober you would never be so bold as to _actually_ put your hands on me. To grab me and take—”

Rhys’ next breath came out in a stutter, a soft cry of alarm when his back was shoved against the wall. He winced at the sudden grip on his wrists, shrinking beneath Axton’s bulky frame as the soldier moved into his space. A collective roar of _wait, no, stop_ went up in Axton’s ears, but he forced it aside, smacking the switch to close the door behind him. He pressed his way forward, pinning Rhys into place so that their hips jutted together, and at the warm sensation of Rhys’ smaller frame writhing beneath his, heat began to pool and curl in his groin, demanding action, demanding _more._

Rhys remained frozen as Axton’s hands moved from his wrists to his shoulders, gripping the ratty jacket to fiercely tug it down to his elbows. A shudder of surprise worked its way through Rhys’ lithe body; he brought his restrained arms back up in protest, but Axton was quick to snag them once more, lifting them over his head to hold them in place with one hand. Rhys’ face went blank with shock, pupils blown and lips parted, but Axton did not notice. He was busy slipping his free hand down along Rhys’ shirt, running fingers against the skin beneath, feeling the shape of soft muscle and freeing each button loop with ease.

“Alex. Axton. _Wait—”_

Axton ducked his head forward, catching Rhys’ mouth. He tasted the remnants of hazelnut coffee on Rhys’ tongue, tracing its shape in a bid to memorize and pry and _keep._ Axton groaned past his lips, then moved to nip the corner of his jaw with his teeth. An abrupt gasp escaped the man beneath him; he squirmed uselessly under Axton’s bulk. A wicked shiver went through his core, and Rhys could but tilt his head as Axton’s prying lips worked down his tattooed neck. Then Rhys went limp under him, letting a quiet moan slip past his ear.

“Ax,” Rhys whimpered. _“Please.”_

And suddenly, the volume of the warnings in his head grew tantamount. Axton paused, staggered back. Rhys stared at him in alarm; he winced at every movement, every sound. There, under Axton’s control, he looked small. _Weak._

 _What the fuck am I_ doing? Axton released him in an instant. He’d crossed a line he never intended to even find — to _assault._ Nauseating, cold remorse flooded his system, dousing the heat that Rhys’ taunting words had set aflame.

“…Rhys, I…” Axton hissed, moved back another step. “I’m sorry, I…”

For a moment, Rhys watched him in silence, brows pinched as he cowered against the wall. Then in a cool, disturbingly seamless transition, all traces of fear evaporated from the other man, replaced with a look somewhere between pity and annoyance. Axton’s stomach flip-flopped and Rhys casually straightened, re-buttoning his shirt with nimble fingers.

“You see? I told you.” he snorted, as though nothing untoward had just taken place. Axton grew pale.

“You’re a coward after all.”

* * *

After a few successive jumps, it became easier to acclimate to the effects of fast travel. To keep their tracks covered, the trip to Sanctuary demanded a number of random transitions, resulting in short stops in the Dust, Dahl Highlands, and Tundra Express areas of Pandora. With each reemergence from the light, the dizzying sensation seemed to ebb, and was almost gone altogether by the time his feet set down within the city’s walls. It provided the barest relief, given what he was about to experience.

The streets seemed busier than the last time Axton had visited. Somewhat cheerful civilians milled about, waving casually as they passed by where he stood — a far cry from the exchanges to which he had grown accustomed on Helios. Axton offered a nod each time, pointedly keeping the muzzle of the rifle in his hands aimed in a safe direction. He relished the respect, the smiles, now that he was back where his work was appreciated.

And with Rhys’ arrival at his side, the good mood disappeared at once.

“This is demeaning,” Rhys growled, gesturing with his cuffed wrists. “What, you think I’m going to run?”

Roland stepped out from the building that housed the local fast travel station, squinting to survey the city’s central square.

“We’re not taking any chances,” he replied bluntly. “Let’s get this over with.”

Axton proceeded to follow Roland without sparing another glance in Rhys’ direction. Following the exchange from the previous evening, only hostility had reigned between the two, from sharp looks to quiet curses muttered under breath. It was mostly Rhys who put his frustrations on display, but Axton didn’t hurt any less, especially in brief moments of eye contact when Rhys’ lips curled with considerable hatred.

And Axton deserved it, for the role he played in Rhys’ current predicament. He did, however, find that it was easier to ignore the flush of shame it had once caused, for he was starting to realize that it was all a game for Rhys. Each of them had played the other, and Axton currently had the advantage. But he had never been one for mind games, and he imagined it wouldn’t be long before Rhys surged ahead. If he hadn’t already.

Finding it better not to play at all, he did his best to stay distant, stay close to his commander, keeping his attention mostly straight ahead during their walk to the Crimson Raiders headquarters with the cybernetic man and Mordecai in tow.

“Seems busier here,” Axton observed.

“It is,” Roland confirmed. “Since Hollow Point went quiet, more people have been arriving with each day. We even have fresh recruits.”

Axton flinched. “Sorry? Hollow Point went quiet?”

“There was an attack,” Roland explained with a frown. “Not many details are known, due to the chaos of it all. Power sources were destroyed, some people disappeared, many more were left dead. Very few made it out alive.”

A familiar, hollow unease began to make its home in the pit of Axton’s stomach.

“Jack.”

Roland gazed over his shoulder. “It’s possible. But it wasn’t like New Haven. None of the grandstanding, no taunting broadcasts. And Hollow Point was not without its enemies.”

Axton desperately wanted to look back at Rhys, to gauge his reaction to the conversation. But he knew it was pointless anyway; Rhys had mastery over his poker face. Even if he knew about the attack, he wouldn’t give anything away.

“About time you showed up.”

Lilith stood in the doorway of the Crimson Raiders HQ, arms folded defiantly across her chest. Her expression was rife with irritation, but seemed to lighten ever slightly as Roland climbed the steps and paused briefly at her side. There was no physical contact, but something unspoken passed between them; Axton almost turned his head at the intimate moment.

“Is everything ready?”

“Nearly. We should talk.”

Roland gave Axton a short nod. “Stay downstairs for now. I’ll call you up shortly.”

Axton stiffened, saying nothing, but Mordecai was quick to respond. He brought up the rear, shoving Rhys up the steps.

“Get your ass inside, Hyperion.”

The bottom floor of the Crimson Raiders’ hideout was a mishmash of sleeping quarters and an improvised lab. More than half of the room was dedicated to Doctor Patricia Tannis, a peculiar woman with a penchant for unintentionally uttering insults as mere observations. Axton tended to avoid her, not just because science bored him (read: often went over his head), but because she was simply…strange. And according to Roland, it apparently had nothing to do with the fact that she had been tortured for information at the hands of Handsome Jack some time back.

Luckily, she was absent when they wandered in, presumably absorbed in some eridium experiment elsewhere on Pandora. There were however a few members of the Raiders loitering about, all without helmets but none that Axton recognized from his brief time with the group before he was sent off to Helios. The new recruits, then. They nodded half-hearted greetings to the two vault hunters before shooting angry looks in Rhys’ direction.

“Charming place.”

Having little else to do while they waited, Axton calmed himself with a breath, then turned to watch Rhys scrutinize the room with a quirked eyebrow.

“This is Pandora, buddy. We ain’t exactly born with silver spoons in our mouths down here.”

Rhys snorted, glancing irritably toward the raider that had spoken, only to go stock still. He straightened, scanning the man sitting on the bunk with some imperceptible look. The raider did not seem to notice, but Axton did, and he eased back in minor suspicion. Rhys’ stare lingered on the man for far too long, almost piercingly, but after a moment he seemed to feel eyes on him. Rhys slowly met Axton’s gaze, frowned, and the two mutually looked away.

“It’s about what I expected,” Rhys admitted. “Meagre creature comforts, anyway.”

“That supposed to be insulting?” Mordecai asked casually. “The people here are trying to do some good. S’more than can be said for Hyperion.”

“Sounds like you suffer from your _own_ propaganda,” Rhys smirked. “But anyway — aren’t most of your boys former Atlas infantry?”

“We’ve all done shit in the past,” Mordecai shrugged, offering no excuses. “S’what we do now that counts, yeah? Self improvement n’ shit.”

Rhys’ eyebrows rose; his smile faded.

“Indeed,” he breathed. “…I couldn’t agree more.”

It was difficult to tell how genuine the response was — but regardless, Axton was not interested in giving him any sort of credit, still feeling burnt from their previous interaction. He turned his back on the pair, moving to a nearby table on which he placed his rifle. With his hands freed, Axton unzipped and discarded the thick coat, tossing it onto the surface before hefting his gun back into his hands. Now only clad in his normal jacket and undershirt, the warmer temperatures of Sanctuary were more bearable.

But when he turned to press his back against the table, he regretted the choice, as Rhys was staring directly at him. His eyes dwelled momentarily on his face, then lowered to his chest. Axton bristled, following his stare, realizing he’d noticed the ring and dog tag resting against his jacket. A gnawing anxiety took hold, but he wasn’t entirely sure why. When he lifted his head again, Rhys met his gaze, lips parted in query.

He asked no questions, and Axton wondered in quiet desperation if he was more curious about the ring or the tag. Though it was likely _both,_ and suddenly he felt the scales begin to tip once more.

“We’re ready,” Roland’s voice called; Axton let go of the breath he had been holding. “Bring him up.”

“Ready for what, exactly?” Rhys grumbled, stumbling toward the stairs with a nudge from Mordecai’s gun.

“Your sugar daddy finally responded to our calls,” Mordecai grinned. “You’re making a ‘good faith’ appearance.”

“He’s my future husband, _asshole,”_ Rhys snapped. “Not that it means anything to you.”

“Oh, the power hungry tyrant has a heart after all,” Mordecai countered. “Well, that changes everything!”

Rhys shook his head, staring at the steps beneath his feet as he climbed.

“I know what they’re hoping to achieve,” he murmured. “But it isn’t going to work. Trust me.”

“Yeah, maybe. I guess we’ll find out soon, huh?”

Roland and Lilith awaited them in the room at the top of the stairs, hovering next to a large screen installed in the wall overhead. Mordecai and Rhys passed through the doorway, but Axton hesitated, feeling the tightness of a foreign sensation grip his chest. It was a result of having already witnessed a hint of Jack’s rage, he realized. Now that he’d personally _taken_ from Jack, he felt somewhat agitated in having to face him again. He wasn’t _scared,_ of course not. He simply wasn’t eager to experience the full force of Handsome Jack’s wrath first hand.

But as everyone fell into place, and the screen flickered on, immediately springing to life with Jack’s larger-than-life image, the man looked oddly _reserved._ The sharp angles of his mask were taut as ever, rigid with annoyance. He even drummed his fingers against the armrest of his obnoxiously regal office chair, shooting a withering look through the screen. And yet…

“About goddamn time.”

Rhys softened.

“Hello, Jack.”

“Rhysie…” Jack acknowledged him with a quick, blank scan. “In one piece, at least.”

“Unharmed, yes,” Rhys nodded, then glanced over his shoulder toward Axton where he yet haunted the doorway. “Thankfully.”

Jack’s eyes found Axton. Lingered. Tightened for a moment. Axton prepared himself for some kind of verbal assault, but nothing came, and Jack merely turned his attention back to Rhys.

“Good,” he hummed. “It would do you both well to keep it that way.”

Axton sank back, drawing stiff against the sensation of his stomach flipping over. Jack’s words had been laced with a predictable threat, but no more than was what standard of a detached Handsome Jack response — _on brand,_ as Rhys would call it. They were strangely hollow and emotionless, and Axton worried for a moment that the lack of passion meant that they were actually speaking to _Timothy,_ and not Jack. There was no sign of the fury that he had anticipated, and for what seemed like the millionth time, the bizarre relationship of Rhys and Jack left him standing on shaky ground.

“We’re willing to negotiate here, Jack.” Roland addressed the screen with a casual wave. “We have several demands—”

“No.”

Roland froze. Fresh unease collected in Axton’s shoulders; his gaze snapped to Rhys in question, but the cybernetic man only lowered his gaze to the floor.

“Sorry?”

“Oh, you _will_ be,” Jack hissed, at last hinting at the roiling fury just beneath the surface _._ “But no — no demands. No prisoner hand off. We do not make deals with terrorists.”

Anger and disbelief ripped through Axton like a bullet. He scrutinized Jack’s face with wide eyes.

“We were led to believe that Mister Strongfork is your fiancé,” Roland continued. “Is that not the case?”

“Yeah, it is,” Jack seethed. “And he will understand my decision. He agreed to this long ago.”

Rhys mutely nodded in confirmation. Axton’s jaw nearly dropped open.

“You’re fucking kidding me,” he hissed. Roland shot him a sharp glance, followed closely behind by a lethal glare from Jack.

“Don’t mistake my inaction for weakness,” Jack growled. “There will be retribution, and it will be fierce.”

“But you’re willing to sacrifice him?” Axton pressed forward into the room, almost shouting his indignation. “You’d let him die in the hands of your enemies before you’d even bother listening to their demands?”

Jack’s spine lengthened. He glowered down at Axton, and the heat of his anger almost radiated through the screen and into the room.

 _There_ he was. There was Jack. But again, oddly, it was brief.

“I would do _anything_ for Rhys,” Jack stated, lapsing back into something calm and collected. “But this was _his_ dumb ass request. Not mine.”

Axton wavered. He slowly looked toward Rhys, blinking his disbelief like morse code. And the cybernetic man cooly stared back, offering nothing.

“I’d almost say I’m not surprised…” Lilith leaned back against the wall where she stood next to Roland, folding her arms. “But this is pretty low, even for you, Jack.”

“As it’s coming from the backstabbing bitch that tried to murder my team, I’d almost say I didn’t care,” Jack spat. “But this is the second time you’ve taken something important from me. And it was my mistake for trying to walk away and forget the past the first time.”

He leaned forward, lacing his fingers together and pressing his elbows to the desk.

“This time, you’ll pay. This time, you’ll truly understand what that vault gave me — and sweetheart, you and your friends will _suffer_ beyond anything you’ve experienced before.”

Lilith opened her mouth, then closed it. The intensity of Jack’s voice possessed the room, choking the very air they breathed. Axton felt a very real shiver crawl down his spine. Somehow, Jack had achieved so much more in fewer words than he had when he’d threatened to shred Axton into bloody pieces. Even from beyond a screen, the man was _terrifying._

A small smile played across Jack’s lips. He sat back in his chair.

“Don’t bother calling again. You won’t get an answer,” he scolded. “Nice talking to you, kiddos. And _good luck.”_

He leaned forward. Paused.

“You take care, Rhysie.”

“I will, Jack.”

Calm. Reserved. Rhys’ voice did not tremble in the slightest.

The video feed winked out. The ground below Axton’s feet slipped away.

Utter silence reigned in Jack’s wake, leaving a quietly devastating impact on the room of vault hunters. Rhys hadn’t exactly helped the situation, uttering a soft “told you” following the end of the call before being removed from the room. Roland summoned one of the raiders from before — the one that Rhys had stared at so peculiarly — to take him downstairs so they could discuss whatever the fuck had just happened. But even in his absence, everyone was at a loss for words, staring in disbelief at the darkened screen overhead.

After a few minutes of tense, awkward shifting, Lilith was the first to speak.

“…what the fuck.”

Axton glanced her way to find her carding fingers across her scalp in an agitated motion, eyes scanning desperate shapes into the floor as if the answers lay somewhere beneath their feet. She pushed off from the wall, setting to pace the room in erratic fashion.

“What the _fuck_ was that?”

Roland’s hand twitched, as though he might reach out and stop her. “Lil’—”

“No, Roland, no,” she exasperated. “Did you not _see_ that? Did you not _hear_ him? Is that the Handsome Jack that we know?”

“He was…” A pause. “Different. In control.”

They were right. There were no condescending _cupcakes_ or _pumpkins,_ no sarcastic barbs. There was only _loathing_ and _fury._

“He’s up to something.” She stopped moving throughout the room, but her foot continued to tap her anxieties. “We need to raise defences. Prep the men in the event of an attack.”

“Are we sure that _was_ Jack?” Mordecai tentatively asked, rubbing at the back of his neck. “Because that was…”

“That was Jack,” Axton confirmed in a quiet hum. “That was _Rhys’_ Jack.”

The crew simultaneously turned to look at him, exchanging looks of incredulity. Roland folded his arms over, chewing at the inside of his cheek.

“This changes things.”

“Sir, if I may…” Axton straightened. “How is it that you personally know Jack? What was he talking about?”

Roland’s demeanour immediately darkened. “Not now, soldier.”

“Lack of intel has already fucked me over a few times, _sir,”_ he snapped back. “I need to know what I’m getting into.”

“You’ll take your orders and do your damn job,” Lilith growled. “Unless you want to see how we deal with insubordination?”

“For asking _questions?”_ Axton snorted. “Now _that’s_ an appropriate response.”

“You’ve already done enough damage. Jack might’ve been willing to talk, if you hadn’t lost your shit just now.”

“Bullshit.”

Gnawing, choking anger began to claw its way up Axton’s throat. He visibly bared his teeth, a snarl of outrage, and Lilith was quick to meet the challenge. The markings on her flesh flickered with a soft glow, the distortion of heat rippled over her skin. Her fists clenched at her sides as the two squared off.

“Hey, slow down.”

Mordecai’s hand clapped down on Axton’s shoulder. He tugged him back a few steps, close to his side. “Are we a team, or aren’t we? He deserves to know.”

For the second time in as many days, the sniper’s behaviour completely took Axton by surprise. He turned, brows high on his forehead as he scrutinized the man next to him. Mordecai’s hand on his shoulder gave the barest squeeze, a reassuring gesture.

Lilith eased back. Roland sighed, turning his eyes downcast to the floor.

“…couple of years back, we worked with Jack’s team against the Lost Legion after they took control of Helios to destroy Elpis.”

Axton went rigid. Lost Legion? Did he mean—

“During those events, Jack’s intentions became clear fairly quickly,” he continued. “So we turned on him. First, we destroyed his weapon. Then…”

He trailed off. Lilith raised a hand, flexing her fist with a smirk.

“Let’s just say he got what was coming to him.”

Whatever _that_ meant. Axton’s breath stuttered.

“So his anger is justified, to a certain extent.”

Lilith shook her head. “He was always a monster. We tried to stop him.”

“And likely made it worse.”

She turned, setting narrowed eyes on Axton. He bristled under her examination, maintaining his ground, but then her expression shifted. She frowned, tilting her head. Her gaze flickered toward the stairwell just outside the door.

“…do you hear that?”

Lilith advanced across the room; Axton listened as well as he could, but nothing odd reached his ears. He curiously followed her to the door, where she paused just outside the frame, raising a hand to gesture for him to be still, silent. Axton settled, craning his head to hear for whatever it was that had caught the Siren’s attention.

“Please, you have to do _something.”_

Rhys’ voice crept up the stairs in a hushed, insistent tone. Something heavy and uneasy settled into Axton’s chest.

“That’s an _order.”_

“What the fuck are you talking about?” a second voice replied. “I’m not—”

“Stop playing dumb. I know who you are,” Rhys growled. “Cade passes me all the information on our Pandora operatives. Now undo these fucking cuffs and you won’t be loaded into the moonshot when we get back to—”

Lilith immediately advanced, and Axton gave chase. They descended to the bottom floor in a few long strides.

“What the hell is this?”

Rhys stood in close proximity with the raider from before, and at the appearance of the two vault hunters, the pair lifted their heads in shock, like two children that had been caught up past their bedtime.

“Sir,” the raider winced. “Ma’am. I—”

“Are you a fucking spy?”

“W-what?” the man stuttered. “No! I have no idea what he’s talking about!”

“He’s not,” Rhys hissed, taking a step away and backing into a table. “I was mistaken—”

Lilith’s frame tensed. Her tattoos glowed ominously with unspoken power; Axton could swear he saw a hint of blue flame dancing in her eyes.

“The timing is fairly interesting,” Lilith hissed, slowly striding toward the raider. “You arrived, what, one day after the attempt on Jack’s life?”

“I’m not a spy.” His throat bobbed with a visible swallow. “I swear. I’m from Hollow Point!”

“Also rather convenient.”

“I was wrong,” Rhys lifted his hands, a desperate attempt to alleviate their concerns. A very noticeable shiver ran through his arms as Lilith came close. “I’m sorry, I thought he was—”

“You. Shut up.” Lilith had thrusted a finger into his face, to which Rhys reared back. Then she turned, casting a fiery look back at Axton. “And you two, get him the fuck out of Sanctuary.”

Mordecai appeared as if from nowhere, crossing the room in an instant. He slipped a hand under Rhys’ arm to drag him toward the exit.

“C’mon, kid. Time to go.”

Before Axton could nod, take a step, or even think to breathe, Lilith spun, taking a fistful of the raider’s jacket. He cried out in fearful surprise upon being shoved to the wall; his expression twisted with fear.

“We’re going to have a little chat,” she snarled to the man. “And I better like what I hear, or it won’t end well for you.”

“Stop,” Rhys cried out. “I—”

“I said _move it,_ Hyperion.”

Mordecai snagged Rhys by the collar, forcing him forward. As they disappeared out the door together, Rhys nearly tripping over himself, panic surged through Axton’s chest. He almost bolted across the room, determined to keep up with the pair.

As they returned to the warm air of Sanctuary’s open streets, Axton cast a final, uncertain glance back into the headquarters, managing to glimpse the pistol that had appeared in Lilith’s hand, and was pointedly pressed to the raider’s temple. He turned his back to it, focused ahead on _everything, anything, nothing,_ hoping that in the time it took them to reach the fast travel station, he would not hear the distant _crack_ of a gunshot.

Roland was right. Things had _changed,_ thanks to Rhys and Jack both, and Axton had little indication as to where he was left standing.


	10. Cabin Fever

To the surprise of absolutely no-one, living with the constant threat of an assault from far overhead was an immense mental strain, a near impossibility for the Raiders assigned to the arctic hideout. Whereas Sanctuary boasted shields, a tangible sense of protection, the Frozen Wastes offered only the suggestion of secrecy, tucked away where few would think to look. It offered little in assurance, and while Axton was no stranger to enduring the continued presence of risk, of the reaper watching over one’s shoulder, as time went on, even he had to admit it was difficult to stare death in the face. Or, well,  _ eye. _

After a few uneventful days following the incident with Jack, the tension that had descended over the hideout had not lessened in the least, despite the lack of attacks. Those who occasionally ventured outside for respite from the small space would always cast a wary glance skyward. Axton had done what he could to avoid leaving altogether, already ill with a rush of nausea at the thought of moonshots raining down from above, but the cramped space began to feed on his nerves as it had for the others. Between sharing uncomfortable bunks, the bitter, freezing cold, and the forced interaction with Rhys, he was slowly beginning to lose his mind. The mounting anxiety was palpable — the second he stepped outside, his eyes would inevitably drift high to linger on that haunting, foreboding shape in the sky.

True to his word, Jack hadn’t made a move. Far above Pandora, life went on without them, and as days drifted together, Rhys’ mental state seemed to decline with the rest of them. He retained some of his strength, enough at least to bitterly reply to any further attempts to draw out useful information regarding Jack, but in the quiet moments after night had fallen, Rhys would stare mournfully into the fire pit, looking alone and lost.

Axton had mostly avoided speaking to him, where possible. He was yet caught in some conflicted headspace regarding what remained between them, and Rhys seemed more than happy to indulge him, but his burning hatred had apparently begun to wane. The fleeting looks of distaste had become unenthused glances, then nothing. Axton supposed he should feel relieved, but instead, the atmosphere in the cramped space became stifling.

And on the third day, when Roland appeared to hand out marching orders, Axton could but grit his teeth when it was left only to him, Mordecai, and Gaige to watch over their hapless prisoner. The others were needed for “an offensive op” — something that called Axton’s name and set his blood aflame, but when he offered his services, Roland had quickly turned him down. The stern commander had insisted he needed trusted men to remain behind, but Axton knew it was likely the opposite. He didn’t argue, already exhausted with the effort. So instead, he quietly endured, which mostly involved waiting in the cold in awkward silence.

He sat on the edge of a worn bunk, wringing his hands. His eyes slipped over their shapes, following the hardened creases and scarred valleys of his palms, as he turned them over again in a useless attempt to lose himself, to escape the chaos in his head. But all he could think, all he could hear ringing inside his skull, was the echo of Lilith’s anguished words from days before.

_ What the fuck. _

The haunting quiet had been almost constant following their return from Sanctuary, hanging like a heavy blanket over the heads of the vault hunters and their peculiar prisoner. Rhys always willingly shuffled back to his place on the sofa, dropping into the same spot as before, where the almost familiar sound of tired springs groaned from beneath.

Gaige worked away at some tech she’d strewn out across one of the work benches, and Mordecai had switched on an old television, mindlessly watching old broadcasts littered with static and no sound. Eventually, Handsome Jack’s visage flickered into view, and Axton was left to desperately avert his eyes, with nowhere else to look but at his hands.

Rhys, too, had looked away — something Axton had only barely managed to notice. His expression had twisted briefly, sharpened with some hint of regret, before he ignored the broadcast completely. Axton wondered at the uncharacteristic slip in demeanour, if the meeting at the Raiders’ HQ had him rethinking his decision. But Rhys would never say, and it was useless to try to guess.

The advert playing on the television was a promo for the casino, displaying closer views of the various sections of the space station. Axton glimpsed it, chewing his tongue, and was very nearly tempted to toss his tomahawk into the screen. But then Handsome Jack appeared once more, resting in a pink-lit grotto while flanked by two bikini-clad women, in what turned out to be a highlight of a VIP area within the Vice District.

“Does that bother you?”

The sudden break in the deafening silence had both Axton and Rhys turning in strange unison to cast a look toward Mordecai; the sniper had canted his head toward the television in question. Rhys’ face shifted with incredulity as he stared at the screen a moment before snorting and glancing away with the clear suggestion that the effort had not been worth his time.

“Of course not,” he answered, catching on before Axton did. “That’s not Jack.”

Against his better judgement, Axton leaned forward, squinting ever slightly as though it might help discern any possible differentiation between Handsome Jack and his doppelgänger.

“Timothy, then?”

When Axton turned his head, Rhys was staring at him in surprise. He blinked, paused, and turned away once again.

“No,” he replied bitterly. “I mean that’s not  _ Jack.  _ It’s a facade. A game. Handsome Jack is a brand.”

Mordecai chuckled. “Oh, so he’s  _ not  _ an arrogant windbag?”

“He can be. When he needs to be. But he’s so much more,” Rhys shrugged. “Like I imagine you’re more than just an alcoholic mercenary. Or that Axton is more than a boot with good looks.”

Axton winced, unable to ignore the flutter in his stomach. But then he noticed the withering, bitter look Rhys shot his way.

“Or maybe not.”

“Ouch,” Axton raised an eyebrow. “But, hey — at least I’m good looking.”

Gaige giggled somewhere behind him; Mordecai smirked. Something close to amusement briefly appeared in Rhys’ expression, but it was  _ so  _ brief that he wasn’t sure he saw it at all. However, with the memory of their exchange from the previous night, he wasn’t particularly interested in dwelling, in hoping. It was self preservation, if nothing else.

“So what’s the catch, then?”

“What do you mean?”

“The casino,” Mordecai folded his arms over. “Sure, Jack’s power obsessed. Must love the money rolling in. But there’s gotta be something else about that place.”

Axton spared Rhys a cautious glance. But as always, the cybernetic man did not betray his thoughts. He gave nothing, did not even flinch.

“It’s a  _ casino,” _ Rhys sighed in exasperation. “You know, you Raiders have a strange habit of going looking for trouble.”

“What can I say,” Mordecai grinned. “Jack brings out the worst in us all.”

“Yeah, well…”

A pause. As if no smart-ass quip had come to mind, Rhys instead turned his head downward to stare at the ground. Axton frowned, trying not to notice, but couldn’t deny the tightness in his chest.

It was mostly ignored when Axton as he got to his feet, striding across the room. The exchange had been harmless — petulant — but enough to drive him to seek what little solitude the hideout offered. He climbed into the small bathroom unit, trying not to slam the door in frustration.

Axton stared heavily into the mirror affixed to the bathroom wall, palming at the long, tired lines of his face. He’d been afforded few opportunities to sleep in the last couple days, and his rest was always short lived, troubled by the nagging cold and storm raging in his skull. This was definitely not the streamlined, professional kind of op to which he was accustomed. Everything was so completely  _ fucked _ about his situation that he was having trouble grounding himself, struggling to find his place amongst the tumultuous Raiders and where he stood with Rhys.

By all means, anything that once existed between him and the troublesome executive should have faded away long ago, but something weak yet tugged Axton back toward him. It had mostly been Rhys’ drastic shift in demeanour when they had returned to the base — his  _ listlessness,  _ his uncharacteristic quiet. Once in a while he offered the barest words, and had even reassured them that, yes, Jack was telling the truth, and he  _ had  _ insisted on the refusal to negotiate, but it appeared now that the choice was haunting him. Maybe, at last, he was realizing what the abandonment truly meant.

Meanwhile, the sickening shift of confusion and conflict propelled Axton away, to solitude, which he managed to find for at least a few minutes locked away, staring at himself and urging himself to  _ get his shit together. _

Rhys was strong. He could do this on his own. He didn’t need, nor want, Axton’s help.

And yet…

Axton gave a frustrated growl. After a few minutes had passed, and he regained some semblance of control over himself, he pushed his way out the door, casting a look about the frigid hideout in annoyance. Upon realizing it was oddly quiet — well, quieter than usual, if that were possible — he quickly noticed that only Mordecai remained, sitting in his chair across from Axton with his feet kicked up onto the table.

“Uh…” he frowned. “Where’d Gaige go?”

“Had something to do,” Mordecai hummed, offering a shrug. “Going stir crazy. I feel it.” 

Axton’s eyes fell to the sofa in the room to his right, found it empty, and he again felt something twist inside.

“And where the hell is  _ Rhys?” _

Mordecai gave him a lazy grin before pointing toward the doorway opposite the furnace.

“Went for a walk.”

“Are you fucking kidding me?”

“He wanted some air,” Mordecai shrugged, lifting his arms to lace fingers behind his head. “Don’t worry. Gaige said the range on the network block had a pretty big radius. And it’s not like he can make it very far out there."

As possessed as he was to tear a strip off the careless sniper, Axton opted to turn on his heel and surge toward the icy tunnel. He climbed up to the door, pressed against it with the full weight of his bulk, and shoved his way out into the blinding white of the open air beyond.

Nighttime had fallen. It was almost beautiful, the way the stars flickered in the darkened sky overhead, setting a glittering field of light across the undisturbed snow stretching for miles outside of the base. The wind had at last died away, and not a sound could be heard; Pandora had lapsed into something peaceful, supremely calm beneath the scarred, glowing visage of Elpis and the haunting silhouette of Helios.

Just as Mordecai had guessed, Rhys hadn’t made it very far. It appeared he hadn’t tried to run at all, coming to stand not twenty feet outside the base’s back exit. He had wrapped his arms about himself, shivering in his ratty jacket as he stared upward at his distant home. The scene was strangely surreal. It was…

Despite himself, despite the red flags and bitter sting of the exchanges that had taken place between them, Axton shook himself, and headed out into the snow.

Rhys turned ever slightly at the sound of his crunching steps. He spotted Axton, frowned, and looked away.

“I know,” he sighed. “I’ll come back. I just…”

The tone of his voice was heartbreaking. All of the strength he’d shown in the last while seemed to wane, slipping away with his resolve. Axton wavered in his progress, brows pinching, but he eventually came to stand next to Rhys, gazing upward toward the looming space station in the sky.

Several questions yet lingered at the tip of his tongue, but for the first time since they had left Helios, Rhys’ presence lacked any hostility. Axton allowed himself to settle into some comfortable headspace at Rhys’ side, with some trepidation of course, but he couldn’t deny the ever heady draw of potential. That the Rhys he had met was still in there, somewhere, just waiting to be shown that he didn’t  _ have  _ to be strong, that life didn’t  _ have  _ to be as chaotic as it was with Jack. At least from what Axton had gathered from brief conversations with Vaughn, Rhys had been a different person before Jack, and he desperately wanted to know what that looked like.

He schooled himself, took a long breath, and gazed toward the man at his side.

“…Rhys…was that really all true?” Axton asked. “You really told him to never negotiate for you?”

Uncertainty flickered in Rhys’ face. He did not turn to face Axton, but his hesitation was obvious.

“Yes.”

Axton’s hands clenched. “Why? If he cared about you, wouldn’t he  _ want  _ to fight for you?”

He refused to say “love” — he couldn’t believe it, anyway.

“That’s the problem,” Rhys said, and his response was not devoid of emotion. There was a quiet, concealed whimper in the tremble of his reply. “Because he  _ would  _ fight for me. But I never asked for that. I never wanted that. It wouldn’t be fair.”

“Why not?”

“Jack is in a position to do such great things,” Rhys sighed. “And I never wanted to be the one to stand in the way of that. There’s too much to be done for the good of Pandora — for Hyperion — for me to be a liability. I may have given in to Jack’s advances, but I made him promise me that I would never ruin that for him.”

Rhys’ words flowed over him in a heavy, suffocating wash. Axton struggled to stay afloat, blinking furiously past his disbelief as he scanned the other man’s face to confirm that he really did believe everything he had said.

“It was hard for him, at first,” Rhys continued. “Because he loves me. But he also trusts me, and that was always the most important thing for us. Trust.”

“Rhys, do you realize how fucked that sounds?” Axton asked with a growl. “Trust is one thing. But your life is in danger, and he was completely willing to walk away? That’s not love. That’s toxic. Especially given that he’s the entire reason you’re in trouble in the first place.”

“I knew you wouldn’t understand,” Rhys winced. “Jack is—”

“Not good for you, Rhys,” Axton insisted, edging forward a step. “It’s not fair to  _ you  _ to have to make promises like that. You deserve…”

“What?” Frustration filled Rhys’ voice. “Someone like you? Someone who would put me in harm’s way for the sake of his own glory?”

Axton paused. He rocked back on his heel.

“…I’ve made some mistakes,” he admitted. “It was wrong to include you. But you have to  _ see  _ this for what it really is, Rhys. Jack is dangerous. He’s a monster. Being at his side isn’t any kind of life. And this was bound to happen to you sooner or later, even if it wasn’t because of me.”

“I know that,” Rhys snapped. “I’ve known the risks of being with Jack for  _ years.  _ Do you really think I made the decision lightly? That I gave my heart to the man without knowing the consequences?”

“Of course not. I just don’t think you realized what a danger  _ he _ was to  _ you.” _

Rhys did not respond. His hand came up, bracing against his chest, and he gazed toward Helios. When he spoke again, his voice was quieter — as if struggling against Axton’s words.

“He would never hurt me.”

“No?” Axton growled softly. “Then why isn’t he razing half of Pandora to find you right now?”

“You know why. We have an understanding.”

“Oh? You mean not dealing with terrorists? That he wouldn’t even  _ consider _ an exchange to get you away from people supposedly prepared to  _ kill  _ you?”

“Ax, please,” Rhys winced. “Don’t do this. Don’t pretend like you know who we are. Who I am.”

Axton gave considerable pause at the use of his nickname. Rhys did not seem to notice, lowering his eyes to the ground.

“I know what you’re trying to do,” he murmured, all traces of anger having left his voice. “And I know you believe your intentions are good. But trust me — this isn’t helpful. And it will only end in pain.”

_ Whose pain?  _ Axton closed his eyes. “I—”

“You should leave now. Before things get worse.”

Axton’s hands twitched. What did that mean?

“Like fuck I would leave now.”

Rhys turned away from Axton, drawing his arms up in a vain attempt to warm himself. And while all the voices in his head screamed to resist, to listen to him and walk away, Axton closed the distance between them, slipping his arms around Rhys’ waist.

Momentarily, Rhys went rigid, frozen in his touch. But after a few tense seconds, he seemed to relax, even edging back into the comfort of his heat. Axton pressed his chest against Rhys, resting his forehead against the curve of his neck.

“I’m sorry, Rhys. For everything. But you don’t need to do this alone. You have every reason to hate me, but I need you to know I didn’t do this to hurt you.”

“So why  _ did  _ you do it?”

He paused. Weighed the question.

“Because Jack needs to be dealt with,” Axton breathed. “For the bloodshed and chaos that he forced onto the people of this planet.”

“This is  _ Pandora,  _ Ax,” Rhys chided softly. “It was pandemonium long before Jack showed up…”

“Yeah, maybe,” Axton nodded against his head. “But the people here certainly deserve better than what Jack has done to them.”

Rhys shifted slightly, turning into Axton’s embrace. The corner of his jaw nudged at Axton’s nose.

“…and you want to give that to them?”

“Of course.”

“You want to be a hero.”

Axton snorted an uneasy laugh. “Uh, well… Maybe. Something like that.”

Rhys smiled softly, pressing ever slightly back into his arms. “Yeah… Okay. I can see that.”

A flush crept across Axton’s skin, rushing down his arm all the way to his finger tips, which had burrowed themselves into Rhys’ jacket. He felt a shiver work its way through his slight frame and tugged him closer, urging his body heat to pass through their layers and into Rhys.

“C’mon,” he hummed, lips close to Rhys’ ear. “You’re freezing. Let’s get you inside.”

* * *

Mordecai had remained in the same place when they wandered back inside. He had, however, turned off the tv, and was sitting in peculiar silence, as though lost to his own heavy thoughts. Rhys paid it no mind, returning as usual to his place on the sofa, but Axton couldn’t help staring at his strange ally in wonder. As if feeling eyes on him, Mordecai ever slightly tilted his head, offering Axton a grim look.

“What’s up?” Axton asked softly, an eyebrow quirked.

“I just…” Mordecai shifted in place, biting at his lip. “I’m worried about Roland and Lilith.”

“Why?” Axton grabbed a hold of the unoccupied chair next to Mordecai, dragging it out from the table to fall into place. “I mean, Lilith definitely doesn’t seem far from a mental breakdown, but other than that?”

“They haven’t exactly been seeing eye to eye lately,” Mordecai ignored him, working through his own thoughts aloud. “Roland’s obsessed with keeping the Raiders motivated. And Lilith…well, I think she misses how things used to be. She never wanted this. I’m worried about how they might have reacted to the possible spy, too.”

Axton winced. He’d tried not to think about it after they had left, about the way Lilith’s pistol had brushed beneath the man’s throat. He felt a phantom sensation at his own neck, lifting a hand to press fingers to his skin. Roland hadn’t mentioned anything about the man’s fate, and Axton hadn’t asked, but it remained a burning curiosity at the back of his mind.

He glanced toward Rhys, wondering at his silence regarding the potential cluster fuck he had caused. The cybernetic man did not return his gaze, picking absentmindedly at thread on the sofa like he couldn’t care less about what they were discussing. His lack of reaction left Axton feeling wary, but unsurprised.

“...I should go check on them.”

Axton blanched, head swivelling back toward Mordecai. “What?”

“Close as they are, those two need a barrier once in a while,” Mordecai explained. “And with how things have been lately…”

Well, shit. Despite the uneasiness he felt at being alone with Rhys, it made sense. More damage could be done between Lilith and Roland than by Rhys at this point. And what kind of “offensive op” had Roland planned, anyway? Axton had surmised it would be an effort to get Jack’s attention, to let him know they weren’t fucking around, but he couldn’t help thinking anything the two planned on their own would be, well…

Ill-advised. Haphazard.  _ Desperate. _

“...yeah,” Axton relented, scratching at his neck. “Okay. Sure. Maybe you should.”

Mordecai immediately stood up. He turned to give Rhys a long, scrutinizing look, before turning in the direction of the fast travel machine.

“I shouldn’t be long. Just gonna make sure things didn’t fall apart.”

“Good luck,” Axton hummed. He stayed in his seat, watching as Mordecai crossed to the front of the cavern and disappeared. Hopefully he could help maintain order — it certainly seemed like things were falling apart when they’d left.

And if Lilith actually  _ had  _ killed that raider…

“What a shit show.”

Rhys sank back into the couch, turning his eyes to the roof. Against his better judgement, Axton allowed a small smile across his face.

“…a bit, maybe. Definitely lacks the sort of discipline that an army like this needs.”

A lack of response from Rhys had Axton gazing across to him in question. Rhys stared back, an eyebrow quirked.

“Where did you serve before this?”

Axton went still.

“What?”

“Your personnel file said you’d had previous military duty, but was sparse on the details.”

“You read my file…”

“I got curious,” Rhys shrugged. “Cade sent over yours and Mulaney’s after the first time you stopped by. I’ll admit I took a look.”

“What did Mulaney’s say?”

A grin. Red flushed through Rhys’ cheeks. “I didn’t read Mulaney’s.”

_ God damn it. _ As if to avoid an answer, Axton ran his hands along his thighs before getting back onto his feet. He cast an almost desperate look around the room, looking for something,  _ anything,  _ to use as a distraction. Because talking to Rhys like this — this was a  _ bad  _ idea. But seemingly to his luck, Rhys had already moved on, relenting with a shrug.

“I’m a little tired. I suppose I’ll try to get some rest.”

“Sure thing,” he wavered. “Here, let me grab you something.”

Axton turned, striding across to the storage closet. The door  _ whooshed _ open at his touch, and he bent to sift through the storage shelves against the wall. He returned to Rhys shortly after, a folded, patchwork blanket in hand.

“If you’re too cold.”

He had meant to offer it several times before, but they hadn’t exactly been on speaking terms before that. Rhys’ eyes edged wide, hovering on the material before angling up to Axton’s face.

“Oh. Uh. Thank you.”

“I mean, the furnace definitely helps,” Axton gestured over his shoulder. “But this might be comfier than your jacket. Especially with the shitty couch.”

A smile played across Rhys’ lips. He lifted his hands to accept the blanket, but just before Axton could maneuver it into his grip, Rhys paused.

“…I think I owe you an apology, Ax.”

Axton’s mind short circuited. He nearly fumbled the blanket in his hands, stumbling to catch it.

“I, uh…” he raised his head, carefully scanning Rhys’ face. The other man seemed to avoid him, attention lingering on the blanket with a frown. “Why?”

“I made an assumption about what you wanted from me,” Rhys murmured. “But after what you said to Jack… I guess I realized it might be a little more than what I assumed…”

He’d been ashamed of his outburst during the exchange with Jack. It had been unprofessional, unhelpful, and obviously revealed more to the group of vault hunters — and Rhys — than he had intended. But as Rhys at last turned to meet his gaze, and his throat bobbed with an anxious swallow, Axton’s stomach fluttered.

“…I’m not sure  _ what _ I wanted, Rhys,” Axton admitted, flexing his hands around the soft shape. “It’s not as if I had a chance to figure that out. I just…”

Rhys offered a subtle nod. He turned on the couch, then gently patted at the empty place at his side.

“Can we just pretend for five minutes that I’m not your prisoner?” Rhys asked quietly. “Like we’re just friends again?”

Alarm bells went up in the back of his mind. Axton tensed, staring hard at the place to which Rhys had indicated.

“That’s the problem, Rhys,” he sighed, turning for a glimpse of Mordecai, or Gaige, or  _ anyone  _ that would prompt him to refuse, but they were predictably still alone. “We’re not friends. Not anymore.”

“No. I know. I just…”

Rhys leaned into his hands, burying his face.

“Sorry. Ignore me. I’m just not very strong without Jack. I don’t know how to…”

Axton took a slow, laborious sigh. Then he stepped forward, pivoted, and sank onto the cushion next to Rhys.

“You know that’s not true,” he grunted. “I’m not  _ that _ naive, you know.”

Rhys lowered a hand enough to shoot him a crooked smile.

“Hah. Yes, you are.”

An elbow nudged gently at his flank, and Axton relaxed at the touch. Rhys at last took the blanket from him, resting it on the couch against his thigh.

“But honestly, much as we planned for the possibility, I didn’t  _ actually  _ think this would be an eventuality,” Rhys admitted. “It’s like having an emergency kit for fires. People who have shelters for tornadoes. It’s there  _ just in case,  _ you know?”

“And you never stopped during the planning process to realize how  _ fucked  _ that is?” Axton protested. “That your relationship  _ demanded  _ you prepare for you being held captive?”

“Ax, there were  _ many  _ things I had to come to terms with about being with Jack. But that’s what you do when you love someone. You accept the hazards and do what you can to work around them. I…”

Axton shook his head. “And the conclusion you came to was for him to just move on  _ without  _ you…”

Rhys went silent. He rubbed absentmindedly at his knees, staring ahead into the raging furnace across from where they sat close to one another on the sofa. To a certain extent, Axton regretted his words. It left a bad taste in his mouth to try to convince someone that they cared for the wrong person. But nothing would convince him otherwise that Handsome Jack was anything but bad news. Rhys didn’t have to suffer for a psychopath’s faults.

“I’m sure he’s doing  _ something,”  _ Rhys muttered. “He wouldn’t just…do  _ nothing.  _ He loves me. I  _ know  _ he does…”

Finding his fingers twitching with unspoken intent, Axton shoved his hands under his thighs to smother the movement.

“All I’m saying…” Axton shakily exhaled. “Is that you don’t  _ need _ to be with someone who requires you to compromise your own safety just to be happy. Just to be loved.”

When Axton lifted his head, he caught Rhys’ hard, penetrating stare. He felt a brush of anxiety, momentarily falling still to sweep his eyes across Rhys’ face and gather any incriminating tic that might reveal what he was  _ actually  _ thinking. Then Rhys gently bit at his lower lip, and Axton swallowed painfully at the lump in his throat.

“Axton, you…”

Rhys wavered, blinking his confusion. He began to maneuver his way off of the couch, and Axton worried that he had crossed a line, ruining the shaky peace that had descended between them. But then Rhys slowly got down onto the floor. He crawled in a half circle and came to settle between Axton’s knees; the soldier stiffened at the touch of fingers along his thighs. The intimate position set his mouth salivating and his heart racing.

“Rhys—”

“Please, Ax,” Rhys whimpered. “I just… I need to feel like someone  _ cares  _ about me right now.”

For a moment the synapses in Axton’s brain failed to fire; his words snagged in his throat. But as Rhys’ hands smoothed up his legs, slipping past the creases at his hips to nimbly tug at his belt buckle, he snapped out of his reverie, reaching forward to grab Rhys’ wrists.

“Rhys, _ stop,” _ he uttered in a heated, conflicted growl. “I know what you’re doing.”

Rhys sank back onto his haunches, giving Axton an owlish, blank look. He urged a sigh of frustration, and shrugged.

“Okay, fine. So why not just do it anyway?”

Axton went still. A piercing, tinny sound began to ring in his ears.

“…come again?”

“Well, you have two choices,” Rhys narrowed his eyes. “You can be a bitch and get upset at the assumption I’m merely trying to mess with your head, or you can man the fuck up and put your goddamn dick in my mouth.”

Well, shit. That was…

Rhys gave him a minute to consider in relative silence. Axton could do little but scan his face with clueless scrutiny, flexing his fingers to grip against the material of his pants. Rhys scuttled forward, gently gripping Axton’s arm to raise it and set it to the side of his cheek, where Axton instinctively began to stroke at the flesh without even thinking what he was doing. His skin was  _ so soft. _

Emboldened, Rhys settled forward onto his knees. The buckle of Axton’s belt clicked apart in his fingers, followed shortly thereafter by the button underneath. Rhys gently gripped his zipper, slowly tugging it downward, allowing his other hand to again teasingly slide up his inner thigh. Axton’s cock, half stirred in confusion at the suddenly intimate gestures, jumped to life before his fly was even open, straining tightly against his boxers beneath. And when Rhys’ hand palmed its shape, giving a gentle squeeze, Axton tossed his head back with a groan.

“Fuck, Rhys,” he hissed. “We really shouldn’t.”

He felt the siren song of fingers drawing their way down his legs, beckoning his hips to buck forward and draw to the edge of the sofa cushion. Rhys chuckled very softly, a throaty purr that immediately held his attention.

“You sure?”

A hand slipped past the folds of material, coaxing Axton’s length free. It snapped to attention, rigid and thick in his fingers, and Rhys moaned softly in appreciation. Briefly, tensely, Axton realized with a solid jolt to his spine that Rhys having intimate knowledge of his cock meant that he’d be comparing him to whatever Jack was packing, even if just in the back of his mind. But the swipe of a wet tongue to his already perspiring head had the thoughts quickly dissipating into thick, heated lust.

_ Finally. _

His hands twitched with predatory intent, but Axton forced himself calm, sinking back onto his elbows. Rhys very obviously knew what he was doing, something that Axton had previously wondered about in the past. Well, less of a wonder and more of a  _ fantasy, _ but up until now it had only been reserved for moments of solitude in his Helios apartment between shifts. Moments that paled in comparison to now, with one hand caressing his balls, the other coaxing a thumb along the line of his shaft, and warm, moist lips encircling his head.

Rhys’ eyes fluttered closed as he worked, his nostrils flaring with a ragged inhale. His lips parted and hot breath bathed Axton’s cock as Rhys traced the tip of his tongue down the frenulum, along the veins of his shaft, and back up again. Saliva trickled down the full length in fat droplets, which Rhys’ non-robotic hand used to begin to pump with a slow,  _ fantastic  _ pressure. Axton writhed at the slick squeeze, tilting his head back to summon a familiar fantasy of Rhys in his lap, grinding up and down on his dick.

“Shit,” he hissed. “Wanted this so bad…”

Rhys responded with a hum, having set his lips back around the very tip of his cock. He paused, inhaled deeply, ran his tongue around the circle between Axton’s flesh and his mouth, and pushed  _ down. _

Rhys had barely taken in a third of his length when Axton almost came. He bit down onto his lip, drawing blood to stave away the intense pressure in his groin. He’d been waiting for this moment for some time now — he was  _ not  _ going to blow his load in the first thirty seconds. He released his tight grip on the couch, moving his fingers to Rhys’ hair as some minor distraction, but following the bobbing movement only drove sharp lances of lust and delight coursing through Axton’s abdomen. He wanted to grab him tight, to thrust hard up into Rhys’ mouth, but was happily surprised that the man on his knees had managed to take in most of his length.

Rhys’ pace became jerky; he emitted soft choking sounds as Axton filled him. With some effort, his nose pressed to the tuft of curly hair at the base, burrowed against it, and Axton’s eyes rolled back in his head.

_ “Fuuuck.” _

Axton was thankful for a moment to  _ breathe, just breathe,  _ as Rhys paused to accommodate the girth pressed against the back of his throat. His chest rose and fell with rapid, self-adjusting panting, and his fingers dug into the muscular creases of Axton’s thighs. Slowly, his tongue resumed gently swiping around Axton’s cock, and his cheeks snapped taut with hard, delirious suction.

“Rhys,” Axton gasped. “Want you. Please.”

He gave a sharp thrust, pinning Rhys’ head in place with his hands. Rhys’ eyes snapped wide; he tightened his hold on Axton’s hips in alarm. He hummed what protests he could, but a fresh obsession took hold, and Axton began to rut into Rhys’ slick mouth.

“Would fuck you so good,” he growled. “Bet you’d be so tight for me.”

Rhys whined, trembling in his grip. He stole breaths where he could, gasping and choking on the rapid pace that Axton had set. But he did not struggle to pull away, did not fight — only grabbed on for dear life and opened his jaw wide. He cheeks yet puffed and tensed with suction, as he assisted each thrust with a rewarding pulse at Axton’s length. The unheeded, gnawing desire in Axton’s pelvis was growing with every heave, threatening to burst.

“Maybe I should,” Axton groaned, pressing Rhys’ face against his abdomen with every pump of his hips. “Shove you into this couch. Give you what you need.”

Rhys’ eyes were shut again. His expression pinched with focus, flushed red and sweat-slicked.

“Bet you need more than what Jack can offer you. Need a real man to split you open.”

His hips canted too far; his cock slipped free from Rhys’ mouth with a slick  _ pop. _ Rhys whined past a heavy gasp, moaning softly while clawing desperately at Axton’s thick thighs.

“Come for me, Ax.”

_ Shit. _

Axton pushed onto his feet. His fingers again threaded through Rhys’ hair, lining his head up with his cock, feeling a  _ thrum  _ of energy at the look of desire in the other man’s eyes. He pressed back into the thick heat of Rhys’ mouth, quickly resuming his rapid thrusts, bucking his hips with renewed desperation. Hands slipped up his hips, stroking, grasping, allowing Rhys to stabilize himself at Axton’s mercy.

“You see, Rhys?” he growled. “I can give you what you need. Take care of you.”

Rhys’ flesh hand maneuvered along the “v” of Axton’s hips, slipping downward. His thumb and forefinger encircled him at the base, wrist turned to massage against his sack with the heel of his palm. Curses flooded through Axton’s mind, dispersed between offerings of praise, but with the pressure expanding and pooling between his legs, all he could muster was a soft:

_ “Hell.” _

His grasp at Rhys’ hair turned painfully tight. He buried himself to the hilt, forcefully holding Rhys in place as the rush of pleasure began its course. Axton came in spasmodic bursts, spurting thick lines of heated ejaculate into Rhys’ esophagus. His hips canted with the action, urging  _ more,  _ and Axton stuttered at the effort. His eyes squeezed shut with the fantastic, heady,  _ delirious  _ climax, because finally —  _ finally —  _ Rhys was  _ there,  _ he was  _ his,  _ and  _ only his.  _ Jack had his chance and  _ lost. _

Rhys’ throat bobbed with the effort, but he swallowed every foaming drip. The two panted heavily against one another, locked together in a twisted embrace, when at last, Axton slowly, begrudgingly released his grip. He stumbled back, slipping onto the sofa, and dropped his mindless gaze to the man on his knees as he half-heartedly tucked himself away and did up his pants.

_ Gods,  _ Rhys was a sight. Flushed skin and half-lidded eyes, chest rising and falling to catch his breath while oozing droplets slipped from the corner of his mouth. Rhys pressed his palm to the floor for stability, using his other arm to wipe at his mouth.

“Shit,” he laughed softly, coughing once or twice from the thickness in his throat. “That was…”

Axton’s fingers gripped the cushion beneath him at a rush of remorse. Suddenly, he was back in the Crimson Raiders’ hideout, and his prisoner was on the ground at his feet. Suddenly, he realized what it was he had done.

“Rhys,” he uttered. “I’m sorry, I—”

“Shut up,” Rhys chided, shaking his head. He crawled forward, carefully climbing onto the couch next to him. “Lie down.”

Axton’s eyebrow rose. “What?”

Rather than repeat himself, Rhys reached out and gripped Axton’s shoulders. He navigated him onto his side, gently manhandling him into place on the sofa. In the next instant he was on the cushion with him, easing onto his shoulder before slipping backward into the shell of Axton’s frame.

He was  _ warm.  _ Axton looped an arm around his midsection, tugging him more tightly into his chest in an effort to combine their heat in the bitterly cold air of the room. He shouldn’t do this long — Mordecai or Gaige were bound to return any time now. But for just a minute, he couldn’t help relishing the feeling of Rhys in his arms, the scent of his hair as Axton buried his face in the back of his head, the gentle post orgasm throb in his groin. Rhys, for his part, quickly settled into place; his breathing easing following a long, contented sigh before he wriggled his hips to sink back into Axton’s touch.

“…thanks,” Axton murmured, tempted to press his lips to the shell of Rhys’ ear. “For that.”

A soft chuckle. “Don’t mention it.”

“Sorry I got, uh  _ …intense. _ I didn’t mean to—”

“Axton,” Rhys’ voice lowered in warning. “I told you to shut up. Just hold me.”

Axton smirked, giving a quick thrust of his hips in response. He shuffled closer, pressing into Rhys’ hair, allowing his eyes to flicker shut, his heart to begin to slow.

“Okay, Rhys,” he hummed, as he slipped into some cloying, worshipful place of reverie.

“I’ve got you."

* * *

“Where the fuck is Rhys?”

Axton jolted upright; his boots hit the ground in a hard  _ thud.  _ With muddled, hazy thoughts, he caught a glimpse of Mordecai’s disapproving stare before shooting a look to the unoccupied space next to him on the couch. His hand snapped to his side, a quick, urgent confirmation of the presence of his fast travel pass and ECHO device in succession, before he glanced around the room in alarm. Rhys was nowhere to be seen — the entire hideout was abandoned but for him and the sniper glaring down at him.

_ Fuck. Fuck. What have I done? _

“I—”

Before the panic could truly set in, before he realized just how  _ fucked  _ he’d been, the door to the bathroom unit swung open. Rhys froze with his first step out onto the floor, glancing toward the two in surprise.

“Oh,” he hummed. “You’re back.”

Mordecai straightened, seemingly appeased that Rhys was at least  _ still there,  _ but the next look that he passed Axton was still withering.

“Axton…what the hell, man?” he hissed softly. “Did you pass out on watch?”

“He was out for like a  _ second,”  _ Rhys interjected, giving a roll of his eyes as he turned instead to move to sit on the raised dais before the furnace. Axton silently sent his thanks toward the other man, that he was quick to put distance between them and limit any suspicions that had already been levelled toward them. “He’s been too busy doing  _ your _ job, apparently.”

Mordecai snorted. “I wouldn’t trust you alone for  _ any  _ amount of time, after what I’ve seen.”

“You let me go  _ outside  _ alone.”

“That’s different.”

Rhys sank into place, dramatically throwing his hands into the air.

“Where the fuck am I gonna go? Run away into the freezing cold?” he mocked. “I mean, there’s a reason you picked this piece of shit hideout, right?”

“I’m sorry,” Axton uttered, stumbling to his feet. Mordecai’s head swivelled back to him, expression tight with apprehension. “I wasn’t out for long. I promise.”

Although how the fuck was  _ he  _ supposed to know? He hadn’t even felt Rhys slip out of his arms, having passed out from the heavy fatigue from the previous few days. But with all of his gear still in place, there was little harm Rhys could have done in the meantime, right?

“It doesn’t matter, Axton,” Mordecai winced. “You know what this means. This place could be compromised.”

Axton stiffened. “He has no network access. We don’t—”

“Sorry, bro. We have to move,” Mordecai palmed his face before running fingers through his beard. “Hell. We don’t have many of these places left.”

“I—”

“Forget it,” he sighed, frowning his disappointment. “Just pack your shit. It’s time to leave.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, now let's get to the FUN stuff.


	11. You're On Your Own

When Axton’s feet touched down again, the shift in his stomach had little to do with the transition from light to corporeal form. Forcing the feeling of doubt aside, he ran his typical routine, scanning the immediate vicinity — a covered area beneath a ramshackle set of stacked shelters — before checking the scenery beyond. The aging homes were built against the top of a hillside, alongside which a small creek ran down a series of short waterfalls to a valley below. Rusty yellow signs posted at the metal bridge spanning the creek warned of “invisibl assholes,” a clear indication of the local stalker population. But what worried Axton the most was the distant glow of a green light at the foot of the mountainside.

Far down the jagged hill, enclosing the area with large, reinforced walls was a tall tower, housing the turret that Axton had spied. It was all out of place for Pandora, foreboding and _very Hyperion._ Axton stiffened, scanning the distant outpost with unease. Poised at the edge of the veranda of the ground floor building, a hand on the railing, he watched in careful silence, but could only spy the figures of stalkers crawling about on their bellies, far beyond the point that they would notice his presence as long as he kept quiet.

He straightened, carefully adjusting the rifle in his hand to pluck up his ECHO device.

“Mordecai,” he swallowed. “This spot is pretty close to a Hyperion outpost. I don’t think—”

 _“What? Shit.”_ A pause. _“Well, it’s just a jump off point. We’ll make it quick. Let’s get this over with, okay?”_

Axton almost dropped the device. “Wait, I haven’t cleared—”

An electric _hum_ started up behind him, signalling an incoming teleportation. Rhys’ form quickly took shape, slipping into space in the air a foot over the ground before he set down. Axton instinctively replaced his ECHO on his hip, stepping forward to stabilize Rhys as he completed the transition. Rhys stumbled into his arms, taking a jagged breath in surprise to find himself yet again in Axton’s embrace.

“Sorry,” he hissed. “Still not used to that.”

Axton’s free hand gripped Rhys’ cybernetic wrist; he walked him back against the wall. Rhys stuttered his shock, eyes wide when his back was pressed against the shack behind him, wrist pinned in place beneath Axton’s grasp. It hadn’t been his plan, exactly, but he hadn’t had time to scope the place out, and if there were any nearby Hyperion agents he preferred to have control over the situation. Here, away from the base, Rhys had free rein of his cybernetics, network access included. Better to distract him immediately, then — give Mordecai a chance to appear before they moved on.

“Ax,” Rhys whimpered, shrinking down. “What…”

Just as Rhys began to turn, eyes flickering curiously about, Axton again moved forward. The rough touch of his chapped lips brushing the surprised “o” shape of Rhys’ mouth, capturing it in a gentle caress. There was no desperation this time, no _need._ And while there was certainly a flutter in his stomach, Axton had no intentions with this gesture. Other than to _distract._

He broke away, ever slightly, and felt the soft flow of Rhys’ breath across his tongue. Rhys almost trembled beneath him, expression tightened with some apprehensive confusion. His mouth did not close, as if reaching for a question, but some noise behind them interrupted the exchange.

“Took you long—”

Axton turned, expecting to watch the incoming appearance of his ally, and instead froze, feeling the blood go still in his veins.

“Well…I guess it really _was_ about the twink after all.”

Nisha stood on the veranda behind him, leaning casually against the railing. In one hand she held a small cosmetic mirror, gazing into it while running the tip of her tongue across her plum coloured lips, while her trusty Jakobs shotgun hung in the crook of her other elbow.

Axton raised his rifle in his right hand, reaching with his left to shove Rhys back a few steps.

“Easy, kiddo,” a familiar voice crooned. He spun, mouth tugging into a snarl, and spotted Jack poised on the slope not far beyond the steps of the shack where they stood. In his hands were a pair of Hyperion pistols, carefully aimed in their direction.

_Shit. Shit shit shit._

“Are you fucking kidding me?” Rhys’ fingers clutched at Axton’s shoulder, drawing tight. “He sent _you?”_

“That a problem, sweetheart?” Nisha hummed, snapping the compact shut. “Did you expect someone else?”

“Well, yeah,” Rhys growled. “He could’ve shown up himself…”

“Sorry, babe. Jack’s got bigger fish to fry right now.”

Axton sent another vicious look toward Jack, realizing then that it was not actually, in fact, Jack himself. The doppelgänger, Timothy, took a step toward them, and Axton turned his rifle on him.

“Keep the fuck back,” he snapped.

“Put down the gun, cupcake,” Timothy gestured to the ground between them. “Before you get hurt.”

 _Damn,_ was he convincing. He looked _so much_ like Jack, down to his broad shoulders and perfect coif. Only his expressions remained ever distant, remarkably calm compared to what he imagined Jack would bear in a moment of confrontation regarding Rhys’ wellbeing.

“Alright, soldier boy,” Nisha sighed, snapping the shotgun shut before giving it a solid pump. “Hand the kid over, and things don’t have to get nasty.”

“Nah,” Axton curtly shook his head. “It ain’t going down this way.”

“Aw, sweet thing…” Nisha pushed off of the railing, tilting her head. “You should’ve taken me up on my offer, Alex. You could’ve been spending the evening in my bed instead of six feet under.”

“Oh, of _course,”_ Rhys drawled. “Never could help yourself around a handsome face, could you, Nish?”

“You’re one to talk.” Nisha’s eyes narrowed. “You took climbin’ the corporate ladder to a new extreme, didn’t you?”

“Nish.” The Jack body double shifted in place, clearly annoyed by the banter. “We good?”

In a quick gesture, Axton dropped his rifle to his digistruct device. His hand came back up with a pistol; he dragged Rhys in front of his frame, pressing the muzzle of the gun to the soft underside of his chin. Rhys went still in his grip, a fearful exhale drifting past his lips.

“Ax—”

“Shut up,” Axton growled. “Stay quiet.”

“Baby doll. Don’t make us hurt you.” Nisha warned. “That’s for Jack.”

“So walk away. I hear Lynchwood is missing their sheriff.”

“There’s no way out of this,” Timothy called. “We’ve got you outnumbered, kiddo.”

“And I’ve got a gun to your boss’ precious _kitten,”_ Axton snarled. “He doesn’t have a shield. I do. What’s your plan, jackass?”

Timothy’s jaw tightened.

“Hand him over, and we won’t fill you with lead,” Nisha offered. “Jack might even be willing to go easy on you. But I doubt it.”

“And where _is_ Jack?” Axton’s grip looping around to Rhys’ chest tugged back, removing any remaining space between them. He backed against the wall, drawing Rhys with him while sending a quick, frustrated look toward the fast travel machine. “He couldn’t be bothered to make an appearance?”

_Where the fuck is Mordecai?_

“I assured him we could handle a couple of raiders,” Nisha smiled. “But I didn’t expect to see you, love.”

“Did you two fuck?” Rhys groaned in annoyance. “Please tell me you didn’t fuck.”

The muzzle pistol dug deeper, leaving a distinct circular shape pressed into Rhys’ chin. 

“Rhys,” he snarled at his ear. “Shut. The hell. Up.”

“Why?” Rhys snapped. “We both know you’re not going to pull the trigger.”

Axton slipped the pistol free, firing a round off into the roof overhead before swiftly replacing it back against his skin. A deafening ringing overtook their ears; bits of debris fell from the hole he had punched above their heads. Nisha’s shotgun was up, aimed directly for the pair of them. Timothy had even moved closer, setting the tip of his sneaker to the bottom stair.

“Back up,” Axton shouted. “I’m not fucking around.”

While Nisha did not move, Timothy seemed to relent, removing his foot from the step.

“This doesn’t have to end in bloodshed, Alex,” Nisha barked. “Give us Rhys, and—”

Even beyond the ringing in his ear, Axton could hear the bizarre shrieks. To their left, a purple puff of smoke exploded into view. A six foot long stalker began to climb its way over the railing, giving another terrifying scream.

“Shit!”

Nisha turned, unloading her shotgun into the stalker’s face. The creature — a prone, scaled beast with wing-like forward appendages and spikes protruding from every joint, was quickly replaced by another, summoned to their spot by the sound of Axton’s single gunshot. The next jerked its whip tail forward, aiming a series of jagged spikes that embedded themselves into the floor where they narrowly missed Nisha’s leg.

Axton fired several rounds into the stalker advancing on Nisha. In the chaos, Rhys took the chance to slip free from Axton’s grip, disappearing around the side of the building. He spared a quick look after him, chest tightening with anxiety, but where he expected Rhys, he only saw _Jack,_ as the body double ran up the steps and _slammed_ into Axton.

The pair fell together in a grapple, rolling across the veranda and off the edge on the other side. One of Timothy’s pistols had disappeared, but the other one came at him in a quick arc; Axton jerked back just in time to avoid the sharp melee weapon affixed to the end. He kneed Timothy in the solar plexus, rolling him onto his back to place Axton on top, where he reached forward to pin Tim’s wrist against the ground before taking aim with his own gun.

“You have no idea what you’ve done,” Timothy grunted, punching Axton square in the jaw with his free hand. “Jack is going to destroy everything you know.”

“With your help, I suppose?” Axton snarled, pressing an arm across Timothy’s throat.

“No,” Timothy winced. “This, he’ll want to do himself.”

Timothy’s leg looped over Axton’s. He expertly pivoted the two, forcing Axton off balance and onto his side. The pistol in his hand flew free, skipping across the ground.

“So why are _you_ here? Does Rhys really mean so little?”

Something strange flickered in Timothy’s expression.

“As I said,” the body double shook his head. “You have no idea.”

With his digistruct device pressed to the dirt beneath his bulk, Axton had little he could do but struggle with the doppelgänger for the remaining pistol. The two froze in their locked battle as three distinct spikes hit the narrow ground between their abdomens, followed behind by a wailing shriek.

They pushed away from each other just as the stalker slid through, thrashing at the dirt where they had just been. Axton’s head swivelled about in examination of the scene, capturing the chaos in a quick glance. More stalkers had descended, slipping in and out of their cloaked forms. Several shotgun blasts from behind indicated that Nisha was still nearby, but Rhys was nowhere to be seen, presumably — hopefully — having taken cover. But if he had managed to get to the fast travel machine…

Axton’s pistol was out of reach, knocked further aside by the closest stalker’s tail. The beast separated him from Timothy at least, and the doppelgänger was rapidly firing rounds into its bulk. Blood spattered across the ground, but the stalker kept advancing, taking swipes at the handsome operative. It made contact, tearing a jagged slice across Timothy’s thigh, and he cried out in pain, stumbling backwards onto his ass. Before the stalker could advance again, however, he lifted his arm, jabbing a finger into his wristwatch.

_“And the world just got twenty-five percent more handsome!”_

Flanking Timothy, erupting in brilliant flashes of blue light, were two full sized images of Jack. The pair immediately raised their arms, firing upon the stalker with wrist mounted lasers. Their attacks left black marks singed into the creature’s skin — not merely holograms. Axton’s lips parted in awe, amazed by the advanced tech.

The digi-Jacks looked strange, having ditched the ridiculous layers of clothing for a simple sweater and jacket combination. But what caught Axton about the bizarre images protecting their injured doppelgänger was how _young_ Jack looked, and he realized in a choking moment that he was not wearing a mask. This was the _real_ Handsome Jack, or some form of him from years ago.

Timothy was quickly back in motion, looking for cover to tend to his wound. Seizing his chance, Axton rolled to his feet, dashing for the creek in the opposite direction. He slogged through the shallow water, sweeping the terrain as stalkers advanced on the hillside from below. Slipping his hand to his back, he released the mechanism from his gear in a swift movement before tossing it into the air. In normal circumstances, Axton would normally turn and watch his turret unfurl, taking in the view of all five feet of glorious reinforced bulk taking shape, as it swept a targeting laser across enemies before unloading dual guns and rockets into the fray. But his mind was occupied, foremost on _distance,_ secondly on Rhys.

He retrieved his rifle from his inventory, followed by his ECHO.

“Mordecai. Need some help, here.”

A pause.

_“Sorry, bro. The machine was blocked after the kid went through. Had to jump to the next closest spot. I’m on my way.”_

“LZ is hot,” Axton hummed, slipping behind a craggy boulder to press his back to it while glancing about. “Jack’s team. Two of them, anyway.”

 _“Shit,”_ Mordecai replied. _“Reinforcements are inbound. Just hang in there.”_

Far above, three distant _whumps_ were just audible over the rattling of the turret. Axton’s eyes fluttered in disbelief at his continued misfortune.

“Better hurry,” he spat through gritted teeth. “Moonshots incoming.”

Moments later, the cargo struck the ground, shaking the hillside. Beyond the dust and smoke, several SGT class loader bots began to stand, scanning the area with hollow, red eyes. Axton exhaled a sharp series of curses, slapping his ECHO device back into place. He stepped from cover to fire a dozen corrosive rounds into the closest bot, continuing his backward retreat along the rock. He had to double back somehow — regain the higher ground.

A rocky outcropping now separated his position from the buildings; he had to climb amongst the hazardous terrain to advance higher. The turret and stalkers provided some distraction, as he heard no bullets whizzing in his direction, but it would only last so long. Axton holstered his rifle, heaving himself up past several sharp inclines of rock, when a croaking purr slipped past his ear.

He froze, lifting his head at the crackle of purple light in his periphery. Axton pushed himself over the rock, slipping forward in an attempt to dodge the stalker’s attack, but a distinct punch of pain in his flank signalled a direct hit.

“Fuck!”

He slipped, nearly tumbling over the edge toward the creek. The stalker advanced again, drifting free from its camouflaged form. It gave a startling cry, sharp teeth gnashing at the air, and descended over the rocks at a terrifying speed. Axton fired into it, kicking backward, and fell.

The five feet between him and the ground was more than enough to knock the air out of his chest. Axton’s head rocked back as the pain rippled through his core, a few broken ribs adding to the oozing wound at his side. He struggled to breathe in agonizing sips of air, willing his lungs to expand. His diaphragm muscles refused to respond, even as the stalker poked its head over the edge of the cliffside above, gazing down at him with deadly intent.

Fresh unease gripped him as the thing's skull erupted in flame. But at the stalker’s shrill screams of rage, he realized then that perhaps it _wasn’t_ yet another bullshit ability granted upon the Pandoran creature.

Axton at last caught his breath, hauling himself into a sitting position. To his left, down the creek, he spied the source of the stalker’s demise. Lilith was halfway down the hillside, standing amongst the melted debris of a loader bot. She momentarily gazed his way, offering a curt nod, before advancing on the digi-Jacks firing from above.

Reinforcements, at last.

A fresh shock of pain lanced through his core. Axton shuffled around, doing his best to keep low as he retrieved the only Insta-health from his chest pouch. He lifted the edge of his jacket, wincing upon examining the damage. Blood poured from the three gashes in his obliques, turning his undershirt a deep crimson red. Clenching his jaw, he stabbed the hypo into place, immediately feeling the disgusting warmth of the miracle vial working its magic. The flesh began to knit back together under his touch, and he even felt a rib or two click back into place.

Satisfied, he discarded the hypo, wary of its loss. Next, his hand strayed to his shield, feeling a quiet betrayal at its lack of protection against the stalker. But when his touch found nothing, he glanced down to find it missing. Lost somewhere in the battle, most likely when he was grappling with Timothy in the dirt.

Well, shit. No shield and no health kits. No more room for mistakes.

Axton brought up his rifle, heading for the bridge. The remaining stalkers seemed to have been dealt with, but the Hyperion forces yet clashed with Lilith — a force of her own — who was quickly being joined by a number of Crimson Raiders approaching from the foot of the hill. Even Roland appeared amongst the crowd, throwing up his own Scorpio turret now that Axton’s had fallen away.

Which — sure. Helpful, but it certainly didn’t compare to the _Sabre_ series…

_Not now, dickhead._

Giving his head a shake, Axton continued across the bridge. As Mordecai had mentioned, the fast travel machine looked completely disabled, a lack of blue light flickering across its interface. He frowned at the sight, turning his attention to the entrance to the shack. The door was barred, sealed up and inaccessible. So where…?

“Nice turret…”

Axton lifted his rifle, spinning to meet the business end of Nisha’s shotgun. She appeared exhausted, rage seething in every breath. Her hair was a mess, blood covered her duster — whose, Axton could not pinpoint — and her hat had been lost somewhere in the scuffle. She stood at the edge of the veranda where Axton and Timothy had previously fallen in their own fight, glaring back with steely eyes.

“So. Dahl, huh?” 

“Once upon a time,” Axton nodded. “No longer.”

“Makes sense…” she huffed. “I killed a fair few of your buddies back in the day.”

“So I’ve heard.”

“So what’s one more dead Dahl soldier?”

She hefted the gun. Axton’s finger slipped to the trigger. A distant _crack_ broke through the pandemonium.

Nisha jerked forward, eyes snapping wide in shock. The shotgun fell from her hands; she tripped forward. Axton jerked ahead just in time to catch her, proceeding to gently lower her onto the floor. His eyes quickly found the sizeable exit wound in her chest, just below her breast. Dark blood swelled through her vest. It matched the spatter along the wall beside them, where the slug had continued on to punch through the wood and metal.

“Shit,” she coughed, grabbing onto Axton’s shoulder. “You’re fucking _kidding_ me.”

He grasped her hand, maneuvering it to the wound to press hard. It would do little good, given the pool of blood already collecting against her back. But regardless, he retrieved gauze from his pouch, realizing at once that he did not have another hypo to offer.

“Hold still,” he hissed.

“Fuck off,” she growled. “Woulda been you if I hadn’t been distracted.”

“I know. I’m sorry.”

Axton set the gauze by her hip, leaning forward to press both palms to the wound in an attempt to stem the flow. Nisha’s hand stopped him.

“Don’t bother.”

“Have to try.”

“Why?”

He caught her gaze. Held it. “Nish…”

She rolled her eyes. Closed them.

“You’re w-weak.” Nisha struggled to speak; Axton felt his chest tighten. “Sentimental. He’s gonna eat you up.”

“I can handle Jack.”

A sharp, mocking laugh broke free from her lungs. “Not who I meant, love.”

Blood oozed across his fingers.

“Walk away, Alex.” Her voice fell to a whispered lull. “I mean it. Get as far away from that kid as you can.”

“I _can’t…”_

“He’s going to get you killed,” she murmured. “Or worse.”

Axton’s heart constricted. Nisha’s hand found his cheek, pressing a bloody print to his skin.

“Why couldn’t you have just come with me…”

His eyes fluttered closed. The presence of her warmth slipped away; he heard a soft _thump_ as she slumped against the floorboards. Beneath him, her frame went limp, and despite the incessant urge to _move, find Rhys, save him,_ for a moment all he could do was stare. Axton watched in quiet misery as Nisha went still, her plum lips parted in one last breath.

He tried to move. He tried to take his hands away, to let her go. But for some odd reason, he couldn’t even blink. Axton was adrift, in some place of regret and conflict, where all he felt was the blood on his hands, and the heaviness of the necklace against his chest.

_What have I done?_

“Ax.”

Mordecai appeared to his right, slowly advancing across the bridge. A bird rested on his shoulder, digging long, sharp talons into the padding of his armour, and his trusted sniper rifle was clutched in his hands — what Axton suspected to be the instrument of Nisha’s demise. He passed his gaze over the pair, wincing, before returning his attention to Nisha’s unmoving form.

He took a breath. Found his feet. Axton turned to survey the area, as the final loader bots met their end. Robotic pieces and stalker corpses littered the ground. There were no signs of the digi-Jacks, nor of Timothy, and he wondered absently if he was aware that his partner was dead.

“Shit.”

Mordecai moved closer. Pressed something into his hand. Axton lowered his head to accept the turret mechanism recovered from the field.

“Thanks.”

“Where’s Rhys?”

_Hell._

“No way he went downhill. Check the upstairs buildings. I’ll look around back.” Axton instructed. Mordecai nodded, gingerly stepping over Nisha to head around the shack.

Axton again checked the fast travel machine, confirming it had been deactivated. _Fucking Hyperion tech._ He gazed up the hill, to where he had first spied Timothy, taking notice of an old path that twisted into the cliffs. Fresh prints marked the dirt, indicating a hasty retreat into the narrow mountain trail. He passed a last, mournful glance over the Lawbringer on the floor, and headed up the hillside to give chase.

* * *

  
  
The isolated path had been relatively short, leading Axton into a darkened cave that soon gave way to a hybrid construction of rock and decrepit machinery. It didn’t take long for things to look familiar; much of Pandora was littered with these remnants of old Dahl facilities. This appeared to be an elevator leading higher into the mountains, and as Axton stepped into a larger space to confirm his suspicions, he gazed skyward into the looming darkness of the shaft above. Nothing but shadow cloaked the exit high overhead, and at the very bottom rested a tired looking lift. Upon it, next to the rusted shell of an old van, was Rhys.

He was sitting against the wall, folded in on himself. Even at a distance, Axton could see that he was distressed, face rumpled with some frankly surprising sets of emotions. He had clearly attempted to escape this way, but upon discovering the lift was no longer powered, slumped into place in resignation. It was either that or face the stalker showdown on the hillside. Axton distinctly paused in his approach, warily watching the flicker of a video feed broadcasting just above Rhys’ outstretched hand.

“Sorry, kiddo,” Jack sighed. “I was certain Nish’ and Tim could handle it.”

“Don’t _call_ me that, Jack,” Rhys grumbled, rubbing at his face with his other arm. “Tim tried. Nisha fucked things up spectacularly. I just can’t _believe_ you left it with them…”

“I trust Tim with my life,” Jack countered. “He can—”

“This _isn’t_ your life, Jack. It’s mine. And it’s in danger, if you haven’t noticed.”

A pause.

“Jack, _please,”_ Rhys choked out with a sob. Fat, angry tears streaked down his cheek, immediately levelling Axton with their presence. “I need you. I can’t do this alone.”

Jack’s response was delayed. When he at last spoke again, his voice was softer, almost sounding broken. Between the two of them, everything about the exchange that Axton was witnessing just felt _wrong._ “Rhysie…”

“I was wrong. Please. Come get me. _Save_ me.”

“I can’t, kitten. You know that.”

“I thought you were a hero, Jack,” Rhys implored, brows pinched together in anguish. “ _My_ hero. My big, strong…”

“I have to go, babe.” Jack paused before ending the call, closing his eyes. “I love you.”

“No, you fucking don’t!”

The sound of the call clicking out echoed in the sudden, stifling silence of the cave. It was followed only by the ragged huff of Axton’s breath, and wet, broken breaths of hyperventilation slipping from Rhys’ lungs. Still crouched on the floor of the lift, Rhys further collapsed into himself, wrapping his arms about his legs to press his face into his knees.

Very briefly, Axton was lost. He watched the scene from afar, conflicted by his prior feelings for the man on the floor. There was always the impulse to protect, hold — but things had changed. He couldn’t ignore the sirens in the back of his head any longer. Not after the damage they’d done.

Not after Nisha.

Axton lowered his rifle over his digistruct device, flexing his fingers as the weapon dissolved from his grasp. His movements were still charged, tense with adrenaline, but he was no longer sure if it was left over from the fight, or in anticipation for what had yet to come. He did not bother to soften the sound of his footsteps as he proceeded across the stone floor, letting his footfalls clunk louder once they transferred onto the metal, and when Rhys lifted his head, sparing him a bitter glance, he did not flinch in the least.

Rhys frowned his protests at his presence, then again buried his face.

“Ax…” he breathed. “Please. I…”

For a minute, Axton only stared. He allowed the remnant stitches of pain in his side to tug at his taut muscles, heard the rush of his heartbeat in his ears. He felt the fading warmth of his blood on his undershirt, of Nisha’s blood on his hands. But all that he saw was _Rhys._ Rhys, cowering and crying on the dirty floor. Rhys, abandoned and alone. Rhys looking _so damn small._

He braced himself, took a slow inhale, and broke the thick silence.

“…you’re a piece of shit, Rhys.”

Rhys winced. He lifted his head, shooting an accusatory glare in Axton’s direction.

“What?”

It obviously wasn’t what he had expected. It wasn’t exactly what Axton had planned either. But something more animalistic was begging to take hold, and Axton decided that this time, he would let it happen.

He covered the distance between them in a few long strides. Rhys seemed suddenly nervous by his approach, cautiously frowning at the soldier’s rigid motions. He gasped in surprise to find himself pinned to the wall in the next second, bringing his hands up to grip Axton’s wrist where his hand curled tightly into his shirt. This time, there were no careful, intimate touches. There was no caress of lips, no gentle consideration. The hand grasping at his clothing shoved him against the wall, and the other pressed hard against the line of his throat. Axton’s fingers fell tightly against Rhys’ perfectly placed tattoo.

“Ax,” Rhys hissed in shock. “Stop. Wait.”

“This was all your doing,” Axton snarled. “All of it. The machine, the ambush. You brought them straight to us.”

“What?” Rhys shrunk under his hold, eyes wide in fear. “How _could_ it have been? I haven’t—”

“Don’t give me bullshit, Rhys. No more lies. I fell for your crap _again,_ and look where it got us.” Axton’s fist tightened. “You got Nisha killed. She’s dead. Because of _you.”_

Something clenched at his heart. He was tempted to ignore it, but instead grasped onto it, held it close. The fury it sparked rippled through his unyielding frame. And Rhys stared back in terror, mouth slipping open and closed in a desperate bid for a response, for excuses. And despite his dread, despite the feeling of a quiver working through Rhys’ body, Axton could not relent. _Would_ not relent. Because Nisha was dead. And it was all. His. Fault.

“And let me guess,” Axton continued, hot breathing washing over Rhys’ face. “That little call just now was rehearsed too, wasn’t it? To make you look pathetic. Alone. Just to tug on my damn heartstrings and make me _pity_ you. Shit, I bet Jack doesn’t even give a damn about Nish’, huh? Maybe the body double would’ve hurt more. Probably too expensive to lose.”

“Ax…” The uncertainty in Rhys’ voice was palpable.

Axton dragged Rhys away from the wall, just far enough to _slam_ him back against the rock. Rhys’ back arched with the action; his face twitched with pain before momentarily twisting into a sharp snarl. Axton immediately latched onto the flicker in demeanour, fixating on the slip up. It was a glimpse of the _real_ Rhys, the one always hiding just under the nonsense facade that had brought them to this point.

“You’re exactly where Jack wants you,” Axton growled, pressing bodily closer. “A pawn. Playing your role perfectly. Or a little too well, huh? Even willing to get down on your knees if it means winning the game.”

“Fuck you,” Rhys snapped, beginning to buckle under the pressure. “You don’t know me.”

“No?” Axton snorted a derisive laugh. “So you _enjoyed_ getting fucked in the face? Well, why don’t we take it a step further?”

The hand on Rhys’ throat maneuvered further back, snagging onto his collar. Rhys stumbled upon being dragged forward, barking his surprise when forced up against the side of the van. Axton shoved him face first against the decaying metal, pressing his chest to his back to pin him in place. His hands slicked down Rhys’ sides, reaching around his hips to snag his belt buckle.

“Axton,” Rhys whimpered.

“Does Jack know what a slut you are, Rhysie?” Axton hummed at Rhys’ ear. As if infuriated by the nickname, Rhys squirmed beneath him, mouth contorting with fury. He struggled to break free, fighting against Axton as he was stripped of his belt, but there was little he could do under the larger bulk of the career soldier pressing against him. “Why don’t you give him a call? We can share this moment together.”

“No, I—”

The belt hit the ground with a solid _clank._ Axton’s fingers slipped under the lip of Rhys’ slacks, tracing heated lines past his shirt to the flesh underneath. Rhys’ hips bucked in protest.

“Please don’t—”

“Aw, c’mon, kitten. Don’t be shy now. After all, you’re just _innocent little Rhysie,_ aren’t you?”

He felt the brush of groomed pubic hair, the dip of Rhys’ navel.

“Just want a _big strong hero_ to save the d—”

_“Stop!”_

Axton paused, resting his nose against the curve of his neck. Rhys’ head thunked against the metal of the van; his eyes squeezed shut.

“You win, you asshole,” Rhys repeated, panting past his lack of breath. “You’re right. Yeah. I was using you. It was all a farce. This was _always_ the plan if I was ever abducted. To keep me safe. To keep me alive, until rescue was possible.”

He shot an icy gaze over his shoulder.

“But no — that call wasn’t _rehearsed._ Jack was never supposed to actually fucking _leave_ me down here.”

Axton stared hard at Rhys, scanning the fresh rage that ran hard lines across the other man’s normally gentle face.

“You disgust me.”

“Yeah, well,” Rhys winced, turning away. “You’re not my favourite person, either.”

Of anything he could have said, this seemed to hit Axton harder than he expected. He blinked, momentarily taken aback, allowing the silence to descend and flourish between them. Rhys shivered beneath him, giving in to the cold touch of the metal against his cheek.

“You thought you were doing the right thing. I get it,” Rhys hummed. “Take on the big bad. Save Pandora. But take a step back, Axton. Look at the bigger picture.”

“The bigger picture.”

“You see your side as the _good_ guys. Like it’s that simple. But you’ve used me just as much as I’ve used you.” Rhys turned in his arms; Axton let him. The two were locked in each other’s watchful gaze, entranced and staring searchingly into one another’s eyes.

“Rhys…”

“You’re no hero, Ax,” Rhys shook his head. “You’re an opportunistic asshole. Just like me.”

Axton’s lips parted. No insult, no accusation, no _defence c_ ame to mind. But the longer Rhys stared at him, and the longer that Axton withered under his gaze, the more he felt that infuriating, possessive flutter in his stomach. He grabbed it, strangling it where he could. Rhys would _not_ win this one. Not again. Not after Nish.

Then suddenly, painfully, he realized in raw awe and shame that his hand had drifted subconsciously upward, and was gripping the diamond ring hanging from his neck.

_Damn it._

“…why me, Rhys?”

Rhys snorted softly. “You brought me here, Axton. Not the other way around.”

“You could’ve manipulated any one of them. I’ve seen it. I know what you’re capable of.”

A beat passed. Rhys tilted his head, seeming to consider.

“It’s because I cared about you, isn’t it?”

Something flashed in Rhys’ eyes. He took a stuttering breath.

“You really think I’m some kind of monster, don’t you?” Rhys murmured. “That this was all out of ill intent. That I’m _trying_ to hurt you.”

“Isn’t it?”

“No, Ax,” Rhys snapped. “I chose you because you’re _safe._ Because you’d protect me. Because despite what you might think, I have no _idea_ what I’m doing down here.”

He tried to pull away, to turn from Axton’s grasp. Axton pressed an arm to his chest, holding him there. Rhys bristled defensively, but did not fight back.

“Yeah. I used you. I got on my knees and I demeaned myself to hold onto you when doubt started to set in. But these aren’t Jack’s grand designs. This isn’t some kind of plot to fuck you over. I just want to survive, Ax.” Rhys’ gaze flickered away, somewhere into the dark space about their heads. “I just want to go home.”

Axton stared hard in disbelief. His hands twitched with intent.

“…I can’t believe you anymore, Rhys,” he sighed. “You’ve cried wolf too damn much.”

“I don’t care,” Rhys whimpered. “Not anymore. Not without him.”

And just like every other interaction with Rhys, Axton was left feeling unsure. Ill. It was precisely why he preferred the chaos of combat so much — he knew all the risks, had all of the variables. Between life or death, it was fulfilling and invigorating to fight for life, to come out on top as the _best._ There would come a day that he would fail, that he would fall, but by then it wouldn’t matter. Such was the life of a soldier.

But here, with Rhys, there was no such confidence. He wanted to hate Rhys for his manipulative methods. And yet he fully understood that Rhys was a victim in his own right, caught in his very own struggle for survival. Back on Helios, before his betrayal, they were friends, and there was peace. None of that existed anymore.

Because he was wrong. None of it was actually Rhys’ fault. It was _Axton’s._

“…for what it’s worth, I _am_ still sorry,” Axton murmured.

Rhys tensed, expression growing wary. “…but?”

Axton stole a breath. Reached up to gently brush the loose locks from Rhys’ forehead.

“I’m done, Rhys,” he sighed. “You’re on your own now.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I mean, he's got a point.


	12. To The Top

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Axton tries to avoid Rhys. It doesn't last long.

In another time, the boardwalk town of Oasis was  _ the  _ place to spend a vacation — a luxurious destination spot for tourists looking to get away from the stressors of modern life. Fragments of its glory days yet remained, from the flickering neon lights to the colourful, high stacked villas overhead. The thick heat was enough to set anyone perspiring, to send visitors in droves to the sea’s edge, where shops lined a long, winding boardwalk and palm trees dotted the sandy terrain. And while Oasis still had its own charms, it was a typical Pandoran town all the same, and as with most places across the borderlands planet, its luck had eventually run out.

Axton guessed that the town had died when the sea had begun to dry up. He was unfamiliar with the area, but given the vast, cracked-earth dustbowl extending outward from the decaying boardwalk, it had been years since Oasis had even seen a drop of rain. In the distance, somewhere amongst the rock formations that had once been islands, a desolate lighthouse stood alone, ready to crumble to its foundations. And far above, wedged into the mountainside just beyond the town, an utterly  _ massive  _ tanker had been shipwrecked, anchored, and scrawled with an equally impossibly large “Nice Parking!!!”

This was a forgotten, dismal place. A perfect location for the Crimson Raiders to stash away their unfortunate prisoner.

Okay, perhaps not  _ perfect, _ offering little in terms of security and defences, but it was all that they had. According to Mordecai, there had been other safe houses, however, with their coordinates having somehow been compromised, they weren’t taking any chances. The first week had been stressful, putting Sanctuary on high alert. The fast travel machine was placed under strict lockdown, and the Raiders worked back to back shifts monitoring the streets, anxiously awaiting the inevitable attack.

But nothing came. So far.

Axton had offered his services in protecting the group’s headquarters, but, much to his disappointment, Roland had denied his request. He had no doubt that he was under suspicion for any role he might’ve played in the incident with Jack’s team, only saved by the fact that Nisha and Timothy had genuinely tried to kill him. That, and Mordecai had personally vouched for him.

Really, he’d gotten off easy. The confrontation with Lilith and Roland was short lived, and not as heated as he expected. A remnant unease clung to him following their sparse questions, that perhaps something else had happened to redirect their attention, but he chose for the time being not to push his luck any further. He quietly accepted that his unofficial punishment was to wait things out in Oasis, stuck on prisoner duty in the scorching, abandoned town.

Well, not  _ entirely  _ abandoned.

“Well hey there, friend!”

A sharp exhale through his nostrils was Axton’s response; he turned to set a blank stare on the man lurking nearby. Shade was, for lack of a better term,  _ interesting.  _ His peculiar behaviour could possibly be explained away due to the extreme isolation of being the sole occupant of the troubled town, and the severe dehydration, if his cracked, bloodied lips were anything to go by, but he still left Axton feeling troubled. It probably had to do with the moment he realized that the other “townsfolk” nearby were actually corpses that Shade had rigged with loudspeakers as a means of keeping himself company.

So yeah. There was that.

“Hope you’re keepin’ well! Just so glad to have all of you around here!”

Shade gave him a lopsided grin. Axton mutely scanned the other man for a moment, glancing over his wide brimmed hat and floral shirt which, while not the oddest thing he’d witnessed on Pandora so far, definitely came close. The “all of you” that he was referencing was Axton, Mordecai, a number of Crimson Raiders Axton hadn’t bothered to introduce himself to, Gaige, and Gaige’s kind of awesome robot companion, Deathtrap.

Oh, and Rhys, of course.

“Yeah…no problem,” Axton hummed. “Have you seen my sniper friend? Wears red, has a bird with him?”

“Oh, he took a trip down to the shore. I warned him about the sand worms, but he only seemed  _ more _ interested. Odd fella, that one.”

Axton blinked. “Uh. Yeah. Thanks.”

As if on cue, a gunshot in the distance caught his attention. The familiar sound initially sent a shudder down his back, a curl in his stomach, but Axton set the feelings aside. He turned on his heel, heading toward the boardwalk, and Shade offered a frantic wave at his departure.

“No problem! You come back, all right? Any time. Ever. Seriously. Come back.”

With Shade’s directions, Axton found Mordecai at the very edge of the pier. He had wandered out past even the sketchiest boards underfoot, seemingly careless to the state of the structure where he stood, and was poised with his sniper rifle in hand. Trained intensely on the dried up sea bed far below, he took potshots at the sand worms infesting the area, effectively slicing them in two with perfectly placed rounds. Several corpses already littered the ground, and Mordecai’s bird — whom Axton had come to learn was called “Bloodwing” — was swooping down to pick at the remains.

Mordecai offered a small nod when Axton arrived at his side, quick to resume his hunt. A friendly silence easily descended between the two, but after a moment Axton noticed that Bloodwing had returned to the sky, a shadow crossing overhead. He followed the raptor’s shape across the unending blue, realizing it was closely watching him as he stood next to its master. Axton telegraphed no ill intent, but regardless, decided it was best to move away from the sniper a step or two.

“Can I ask you something?” he hummed, happy that the bird seemed content with his reaction.

“Shoot.”

Axton grinned. Mordecai, too, seemed pleased with the pun, smirking against the stock of his rifle.

“Why were you such a dick when we met?”

This shook loose a surprised chuckle. Mordecai briefly turned away from his scope, seeming to examine Axton in his periphery, before once again taking aim. He pulled the trigger, and Axton watched the ejected casing tumble off the edge of the dock.

“Didn’t trust you.”

“I figured.” Axton shifted in place. “Was it the Dahl thing?”

“No,” Mordecai breathed. “It was because you came to Pandora for the same exact reason I did. And that story doesn’t end well.”

Axton frowned as Mordecai took another shot, wincing once at the clap in his ears. A sand worm screamed from somewhere below.

“How  _ does  _ it end?”

“Depends on you,” Mordecai hefted his gun, reaching to the pouch on his hip for a fresh clip. “On when you decide to finally walk away.”

Unease settled in Axton’s shoulders as he watched the sniper work. “…I think I already did.”

At last, Mordecai was pried from his activities, turning as if to scan Axton’s face. “You sure about that?”

“What does that mean?”

“It means I saw you with the Hyperion merc.”

Axton’s eyes widened. He schooled his expression, took a breath.

“Nisha. Yeah. That was…”

Mordecai gave a gentle nod, but did not pry further. He slung his rifle, crouching to slip his legs over the edge of the plank where he stood. Axton’s stomach flipped over at his cavalier attitude to the perilous height where they stood, but after a moment of consideration, he joined him in sitting at the end of the dock.

“I’m not sorry, you know.”

Axton nodded softly. “I’m not asking for you to apologize.”

“Good. Undercover work must suck. And I’m sorry that Roland and Lil’ put you through that. But I need to know you’re on our side.”

“I am. You think I’d be on  _ Jack’s  _ side?”

“Not Jack, no.”

That was fair. Axton dragged fingers over his face, blinded by regrets.

“When this all started, I thought there were good reasons for the things that I had done, y’know? I mean, sure, I was in it for my own slice of the glory. Yet it helped that it felt like we were in the right. Lately, though…”

“S’not so black and white,” Mordecai agreed.

“I’m not an idiot. I knew there’d be risks. People could die. But it wasn’t until she was  _ right there,  _ that I…”

“This isn’t about the Hyperion chick, is it?”

In response to his curious gaze, Mordecai nodded back at him, a gesture to where Axton had yet again subconsciously grabbed at the ring hanging from his neck. He sighed, spreading his fingers to look down at the diamond with a mournful stare.

“Sarah,” he uttered. “She was my CO. Discharged me for some stupid shit I pulled. Left me at the same time.”

“Shit.”

“No, I deserved it. Plus, she saved me from the firing squad. Gave me the chance to slip away overnight. I still wonder if she faced consequences for that.”

“And you haven’t seen her since?”

“Never got the chance. Not long after I got to Pandora, I received news that my old unit got hit on Themis.” Axton closed his eyes. “She didn’t make it.”

Silence pervaded. Axton gently gripped the necklace, tucking it away under his gear. It had once been a source of comfort, but now only reminded him of his failures. If only he had still been there, maybe things would have been different. Maybe she would still be alive.

Then Nisha would still be alive.

“You blame yourself.”

“Of course I do.”

“You think you should have protected her.”

“Yeah, I—”

“You wanted someone else to protect.”

Axton stiffened. Conflicting anger and denial roiled in his stomach; he shot the sniper an accusatory glare, but Mordecai only frowned back at him.

“Say what you mean, Mordecai.”

“S’not hard to see, Ax,” Mordecai shrugged. “You liked him. Saw him as a victim. Thought that you could save him from himself.”

He—

Well, shit.

“It was different on Helios,” Axton murmured. “Jack had this bizarre control over him. Distanced him from friends. Kept him paranoid. I even offered to show him how to shoot once, and all he said was that Jack wouldn’t approve.”

“Him being alone with you, you mean?”

“Maybe.” Axton blinked. “I wondered if it had more to do with Rhys knowing  _ how  _ to shoot.”

Mordecai snorted. “You’re talking about Handsome Jack, right? Head of Hyperion? Hell, he probably would’ve considered going to the shooting range as more of a  _ date  _ than anything.”

With Mordecai’s words, things clicked into place. Axton straightened, staring ahead into nothing as haunting moments jumped to mind.

Jack backing Rhys up against the kitchen island in confrontation only seconds after Axton had slipped up and called him by his first name, a gesture of familiarity on Axton’s part.

Jack bending Rhys over the same counter in an alpha-male attempt to establish his dominance, as though challenged by Axton’s presence.

Rhys in the elevator, looking scared, because if Jack was watching, he might do something rash _. _

Because Mordecai was right. Jack wasn’t making a victim of Rhys. He was  _ jealous. _

“Fuck me,” Axton hissed. “I really just see what I want to see, don’t I?”

“We all do,” Mordecai replied softly. “Don’t beat yourself up about it.”

“So what do I do now?” He palmed his face before running fingertips through his cropped hair. “I can’t walk away. Not yet.”

“No, you can’t,” Mordecai agreed. “The war between Jack and Roland and Lil’ has been going on for years. And it’ll only end with death.”

He meant Jack’s. Or Roland and Lilith’s, (because one would not rest without avenging the other — he could see that on his own). But the path to that finale would be long, was  _ already  _ long, and theirs would not be the only lives lost. It was exactly why he couldn’t leave, not now, not even after what he’d been through at the behest of both sides. He could not walk away until he was certain Rhys’ life was safe.

After all. He’d brought him here.

“I need to speak to Roland.”

Mordecai lifted his head, nodding his understanding, like he’d been in his head the entire time.

“He’ll be back anytime,” he offered. “There are some things he’ll want to discuss.”

_ Things.  _ Purposefully vague. Unintentionally foreboding. Axton bit back the bile in his throat.

“How’s Rhys?”

Despite being stationed in Oasis, he hadn’t actually spoken with Rhys since they had arrived the week previous. Again, he had Mordecai to thank, mostly for arranging the rotation so that his only beat was the exterior route, giving him the space he needed. He’d been struck with a feeling of irony on his first shift, recalling his initial assignment on Helios with a bitter sting, but had done his best to put it aside, focusing on the uncomfortable heat as a means of distraction.

“Not gonna lie — he’s been looking a bit rough. Is hardly pleased by the situation,” Mordecai answered quietly. “But he’s still a mouthy little shit. Has a strong spirit, that one.”

Before he could stop himself, a smirk slipped across his lips.

“Yeah. Not surprised.”

Very carefully, watching the boards shifting underneath his weight with a wary eye, Axton climbed onto his feet. His stomach flip-flopped once he straightened, but he managed to clamber back to some slightly healthier looking planks underfoot, pausing only when he reached a spot of moderate safety before he glanced back to meet Mordecai’s curious gaze.

“You gonna be okay?”

He considered. Sighed.

“I think so. I’m just exhausted…” Axton rubbed at the scar on his chin, slipping along the groove with the pad of his thumb. “Sick of second guessing everything, you know?”

“Well…” Mordecai turned his back, shrugging his shoulders. “No one ever said doing the right thing was easy.”

_ The right thing. _ When was the last time he’d actually managed to do the right thing?

“…think I’ll go check on Gaige,” Axton grunted, surrendering to his mood. “…thanks, by the way.”

Mordecai gave a nod. “Take it easy, Axton. Seriously.”

Back in Oasis, Gaige had set up a temporary workshop in one of the many abandoned buildings, quickly covering the room in mechanical parts she had managed to scavenge from the town and various bandit camps out past the dried sea. When she wasn’t on guard duty, she could be found here, tinkering with weaponry, adjusting her cybernetics, or working on improvements to her companion’s gear. The hovering, hulk of a bot looked more intimidating by the day, which was impressive considering it was already called  _ Deathtrap. _

Axton had grown fond of the rebellious young woman over the last week, swapping startlingly similar stories of their adventures around Pandora, but was always hesitant to visit her while she was stowed away in her workshop. This was mostly because it happened to be just down the hallway from where Rhys was kept, and that was a temptation he didn’t even want to consider.

But every so often, he ignored the impulse, and moved in through the hallways of the building to discover Gaige’s latest creation, keeping his fingers crossed for a new grenade mod. As usual, the oversized robot lurked just inside the doorway, a constant guardian of the spunky vault hunter in her slapdash shop. Axton raised his arm in the air, receiving an almost immediate high-five, and chuckled as he passed into the room.

“Hey, Gaige,” he called to the young woman where she sat at her work bench, surrounded by tools. “How’s tricks?”

Gaige turned, eyes wide in surprise. It was uncharacteristic of the redhead, who was usually smirking and friendly, leaving Axton to warily pause.

“Ax,” she gulped. “Uh… hey.”

“…what’s wrong?” he asked, brows pinched. “What are you—”

His eyes swept to her project laid out on the workbench. Stretched across the surface, stripped of its coverings and in a general state of disarray, was Rhys’ arm. The sight of the haunting yellow panels strewn about had Axton nearly doubling over as though he had been punched in the gut.

“…Gaige?”

“I’m sorry. I was asked to — I swear, this wasn’t my idea.” Gaige immediately jumped to her feet, an arm raised in defence. Behind Axton, Deathtrap emitted a series of mechanical sounds, seeming to notice her distress, a response that should have immediately put Axton on alert.

But his attention did not leave the arm. Something not unlike fury roiled to life in his veins; his fists automatically clenched at his sides. But by some miracle he retained an iota of control, merely closing his eyes in an effort to keep his growing rage under wraps.

“Why do you have his arm?”

“He hasn’t been cooperating,” she replied quietly. “Won’t give them any useful information that they don’t already have. And Handsome Jack — Hyperion won’t respond to any contact attempts. They haven’t even sent a single drone since the, uh…”

“So Roland asked you to take apart his limb?” Axton gaped. “What are you hoping to achieve?”

“There are atypical upgrades installed,” she hummed. “Thought they might be of use. But, uh…they’re encrypted like crazy. Not to mention the fail safes that could wipe anything if I make a mistake.”

Axton took a slow, careful breath. Since he’d come to know Gaige, and in fact liked her a fair bit, he couldn’t fault her for following orders.

But to see the arm in such a state… It wasn’t just a high-tech prosthetic. It was a part of  _ Rhys. _

“Gaige, I need you to be honest with me,” he cleared his throat. “If you don’t get anything from the arm… what were you ordered to do next?”

He lifted his head to find Gaige staring back in muted horror. Her breathing had hastened; she bit nervously at her lip.

“…his head?” Axton asked, filling the silence.

A beat passed. She slowly nodded.

Axton turned on a heel, passing the potentially murderous robot. But before he could make his way down the hallway to where Rhys was kept, a looming, broad figure in the doorway blocked his path.

“Soldier.”

He slid to a halt, digging his heels into the floor.  _ Slow down. Take a breath. _

“Roland.” He gritted his teeth. “Sir.”

Roland’s gaze had moved past Axton, to where the arm was on full display. When their eyes eventually locked, the air between them crackled with tension.

“It’s time we had a talk.”

Axton stepped aside for Roland to move into the shop. He watched in furious silence as the commander paused at the workbench to slip his hand across the arm. Gaige shrunk back, hands folded behind her back and eyes on the ground.

“We’ve been betrayed,” Roland started. “That much is clear. Not only did Jack’s team know you were coming, but a number of our backup settlements have been destroyed.”

Before Axton could respond, a flicker of heat and motion in the doorway drew his eye. Lilith gave him a heavy look upon entering, finding a spot to lean against the wall. Behind her was Mordecai, his faithful bird perched on his shoulder.

“Loader bots? Moonshots?” Mordecai asked, falling into a chair not far from Axton.

“Uncertain,” Roland replied sternly. “Regardless, we’ve suffered losses. And following the failed assault on their depot last week, we are in a bad state.”

The outrage thrumming through Axton’s body subsided ever slightly, quieted by the reminder that this was possibly all his fault.

“And Jack hasn’t reached out?”

“Negative. If he had the safe houses attacked, it wasn’t in search of Rhys. It was out of spite.”

Axton was tempted to shift in discomfort, but held his stance. “So what now?”

“That remains to be seen,” Roland met his gaze. “We thought by now we’d have the upper hand. That is not the case.”

_ You failed.  _ It was not outwardly suggested, but was palpable all the same.

“What about the supposed spy from the other day?” Mordecai asked. “The one the kid recognized. He might know some things — maybe we can interrogate him?”

“Not possible,” Lilith shook her head. “Not anymore.”

Axton stiffened.

“What does that mean?”

“It means he’s been handled.”

“…that sounds suspiciously like you had him  _ killed.”  _ Axton’s control began to fail; a distinct growl slipped into the suggestion. Lilith looked at him flatly, like he wasn’t worth her time. Like he never  _ had  _ been.

“We did what we had to.”

“Are you kidding me?” Axton lowered his arms. “That man is dead over an accusation?”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Lilith snarled. “The decision was not made lightly. He was questioned. And his answers were found lacking.”

“This is bullshit.”

“This is a war, soldier.”

Axton turned on Roland, feeling the muscles in his forearms draw tight with his fists.

“No, Roland. I know what war looks like,” he seethed. “This is a  _ farce. _ This is a bunch of children in a grudge match.”

“Say he wasn’t the spy,” Lilith’s eyebrow shot up. “Suppose it was you? You’re awfully cozy with that Hyperion kid. And how about Nisha? I saw you with her on the battlefield...”

“She was dying,” Axton hissed. “I wasn’t about to leave her alone.”

“Why not? Isn’t she the enemy?”

_ “Your _ enemy, sure. But for the short time I knew her on Helios, she showed me more respect than you ever have.”

Lilith crossed the room in an instance, trailed by the glowing light of her tattoos.

“You’re the fucking traitor, aren’t you?”

Axton caught her hand where she attempted to stab a finger into his chest.

“How  _ dare  _ you,” he snapped. “After what I’ve done for this  _ joke _ of a rebellion. I should—”

_ “Enough.” _

Roland’s hand descended onto Lilith’s shoulder. He dragged her back a few steps, chest pressed against her back, and the hostile Siren drew resigned under his touch. He murmured briefly at her ear, to which she rolled her eyes before returning to her corner of the room. Axton glanced toward Mordecai in disbelief and anger, but the sniper shook his head as subtly as he could, choosing to remain silent. Complacent.

“Axton, you’ve risked a lot for the Raiders, and we are thankful.”

_ Say what? _ Axton turned his attention back to Roland in surprise.

“Sir?”

“I understand what you’ve been put through,” Roland sighed. “Though your time on Helios was relatively brief, it was long enough to establish friendships. Sow doubt. But you’ve remained loyal regardless. I thank you for that.”

His chest tightened. He said nothing, offering only a mute nod in return. He genuinely appreciated Roland’s words — for it was acknowledgement  _ at last —  _ but he wasn’t ready to forgive and forget. Because Roland  _ wasn’t finished talking. _

“…that being said…”

Roland returned to the workbench, sifting through the various pieces of Rhys’ arm that had been delicately laid out on the surface. Axton winced with every nudge at a misplaced panel.

“We are in trouble. And we need to act.”

“So what do we do?” Mordecai asked.

“Gaige,” Roland addressed the suddenly timid vault hunter nearby. “Have you gotten anything from the arm?”

Axton almost growled as Roland’s hand yet again waved over the instruments on the table.  _ Don’t touch them. _

“Not yet,” Gaige sighed. “It’s highly encrypted. I’ve never seen anything quite like it. Not even their loader bots had security like that.”

“Why don’t we put the hurt on the kid?” Lilith suggested. “Can you imagine the secrets this little pissant has in his head? Not to mention the data stored away in his neural implant.”

“As long as I’m around,” Axton’s lips lifted in a distinct snarl. “You won’t touch him.”

“Hell.” Lilith gestured dramatically in the air. “And you’re telling me he’s  _ not  _ one of them, Roland?”

“Lilith,” Roland warned. “…Axton, you must understand the predicament we’re in.”

For a moment, Axton only stared back at Roland, willing his beating heart to slow. All things considered, Roland was only doing what was right by his team. His genuine interest in the  _ truth _ and being fair yet served them both, but Axton knew all too well that there was a line in the sand. There was a point where their little job was going to cause more damage than any good it had brought them.

“…I do,” Axton admitted quietly. “He’s a liability.”

Roland nodded. “He knows too much, and he’s not worth enough. If we don’t get anything of any use from Rhys…well, there are few options left.”

And there it was. The subject Axton had been avoiding for the last week. The reason for the growing tension gripping at the tight muscles in his shoulders. He was responsible for Rhys, and now he was going to get him killed.

It had been there all along, but he hadn’t realized it until recently. Rhys knew too much. Even if he turned on Jack, he wouldn’t be allowed to leave. Not as long as he could lead Hyperion back to the Crimson Raiders. Axton had signed his death warrant the moment he brought him to that storage room.

“…sir,” Axton stood at attention, head raised in respect.  _ Desperation. _ “Please. Let me talk to him.”

Roland’s eyes skimmed over Axton, a quiet appraisal. Lilith again gestured in the corner, but they both ignored her, frozen in a silent negotiation.

“You get one day, soldier,” Roland hummed. “If we don’t have anything useful by tomorrow, we’re going to have to go another route.”

“Thank you, sir.” Axton bit down on his tongue, almost drawing blood. He maintained his composure, but his insides yet roiled with fury. “He’ll talk, sir.”

Roland morosely shook his head. “I hope for his sake, he does.”

* * *

  
  
The room where Rhys was kept was almost as swelteringly hot as the world outside. It was a small space, fitting only a bed and a side table where an empty canteen rested on its side. The colourful paint on the walls had long ago lost any brilliant lustre, and was peeling in most corners. A solitary lightbulb occasionally flickered overhead. The door to the room was heavily barred, a recent edition, and there was nothing else remarkable about the makeshift cell. In fact, it was downright depressing to behold. And that was before considering the sad state of Rhys’ crumpled form on the bed.

Axton lingered quietly in the doorway to the room. Only the wrenching of the door had announced his presence, as he had not yet spoken, but Rhys’ back was turned as if in premeditated shunning. Rhys, too, was silent, curled up awkwardly on the short bunk, arm tucked under his head for meagre comfort. He had shed a number of layers — his vest, button up, and tie were carefully folded in a pile by his feet — yet his undershirt was still damp with sweat, and his hair looked markedly untamed. But where Axton’s eyes focused, however, was the socket where his cybernetic arm normally connected with his shoulder. It sat empty, a hollow void from which Axton drew thick, choking remorse.

When he’d first set his plans to action, he’d hoped to save Rhys, to reveal the monster that was Handsome Jack. And now Rhys was at the mercy and whims of those who would do him the most harm. The realities and consequences of Axton’s decisions were at last rising up, tugging him just below the surface as he stood in the doorway, watching Rhys gently breathing where he rested on his side.

_ “What?” _

The voice was so sudden that Axton startled, jerking aside half a step. Rhys had not turned, but was perfectly aware he was there, and was clearly annoyed. Axton braced himself, recalling his intentions and why he’d finally arrived at Rhys’ door, but quickly realized he hadn’t managed to put his plea into words.

Rhys sighed his irritation, awkwardly using his only arm to push himself up on the bed. He slipped around, dropping his boots to the floor, and cast a look of irritation in his direction. It was only when he recognized that it was Axton at the threshold did his expression shift — his eyes widened with distinctive fear.

“…Ax.” His throat bobbed; his stare drifted to the floor. “…oh.”

Suffocating the immediate urge to cross the room, Axton drew his shoulders back, maintaining whatever illusion of  _ self control  _ that remained.

“Rhys,” he croaked, swallowing in a vicious attempt to moisten his suddenly dry throat. “I needed to—”

“It’s okay, Axton,” Rhys drawled. “I know why you’re here. There’s only one reason why you’d come back.”

Well, that was fair. And it wasn’t surprisingly in the least — Rhys was smart, and had plenty of time to have figured out what fate was in store for him, especially after having refused to give up any of Jack’s secrets. There was no doubt in Axton’s mind that Rhys knew far more about Roland and Lilith than even he did, given his relationship to Jack, which meant that he was better equipped to understand what was about to happen.

“…how are you feeling?”

Rhys gave him a mixed look of disdain and disbelief, shaking his head. But it faded into something else — heat exhaustion, most likely. Sinking forward, Rhys propped his head up against his palm, seeming to turn the question over in his mind.

“Thirsty.”

A small, ever cautious smile flitted across Axton’s face.

“Yeah. Sorry,” he glanced over his shoulder in thought. “I’ll see if I—”

“No.”

Axton’s head snapped around; Rhys had almost pushed onto his feet, frowning his concerns.

“I…please,” he winced. “Maybe just…hang out for a bit?”

_ Tamp it down. Keep it subdued.  _ Offering a deft nod, Axton drew into the room, closing the door. He edged his back against the wall, sinking down onto the floor in a smooth motion, sitting perpendicular to the bed in a cross-legged stance. Rhys watched tentatively from where he sat, seemingly appeased that Axton was there to stay, at least for a while. It was reassuring, in its own sad, little way.

“Where have you been?” Rhys gazed away upon asking the question, as though to indicate he was mostly disinterested in his response, a gesture that left Axton feeling even more like shit. He sighed, scrubbing at the back of his head.

“Nowhere of note,” he answered vaguely — for it would do no good for Rhys to know he’d always been there, just out of reach. “Busy work for the Raiders, really.”

“Busy work,” Rhys sagged. “So, not defending Sanctuary while fending off loader bot assaults.”

Axton winced. “…no, Rhys. He didn’t…”

“It was pointless to hold out hope, I suppose,” Rhys admitted. “But still…”

Absently, Rhys reached up to trace a finger along the cradle mounted to his shoulder. Axton watched the motion, feeling the conflict curl in his gut.

_ Tamp. It. Down. _

“I’m sorry about your arm,” he murmured. “I’ll get it back — I promise.”

“I mean, as long as it keeps her out of my head,” Rhys sighed. “Let the kid get her fill. She’s not going to crack Jack’s systems either way.”

This time, it was Axton’s turn to avoid eye contact. Suddenly, the floor between his combat boots became far more interesting.

Mordecai was right. His initial interests in Rhys might have been compelled by genuine attraction, drawn by his relaxed attitude and sense of humour (amongst other, more physically appealing attributes), but something separate had taken hold once Axton had discovered Rhys’ true identity. Axton had formed some faulty image of the Hyperion executive, compelled by the belief that no sane person could ever  _ truly  _ love Handsome Jack, and he’d become obsessed. Hell, it had even taken root as far back as that first day, once he had met up with Vaughn and Yvette after having been blindsided in Jack’s penthouse.

_ Maybe you’ll remind him what a normal guy is like, and he’ll fall for you instead. _

Axton winced at the memory, concealing it behind his hand as he kneaded at the bridge of his nose.

“Look, we both know what’s going to happen.” Rhys’ elbow rested against his knee, supporting his hand in which he buried his face. “I’m not an idiot. Jack won’t budge. Roland and Lilith won’t budge. There’s only one way this ends.”

_ Shit.  _ “Rhys…”

“Don’t.” Rhys slicked his hand up over his face, running agitated fingers back through his hair. “Please, Ax. Don’t try to reassure me.”

“So  _ give _ them something,” Axton insisted, feeling a fresh desperation crawling its way up his throat. “Why won’t you tell them anything?”

“Because you don’t betray the ones you love.”

The tight muscles in Axton’s shoulders twitched.

“Jack  _ abandoned  _ you, Rhys,” he growled. “How can you call that love?”

“I don’t know what to offer you, Ax. But that’s the way it is.”

He was resigned. There was no changing his mind. Regardless of what the Raiders would do to him, Rhys was loyal to a fault. Even if it meant his death.

“…I can’t let that happen, Rhys…” Axton urged. “I didn’t want any of this to happen. I—”

“What  _ did  _ you want to happen?”

Axton carefully, slowly met Rhys’ stare. He blinked, lost in the possibility of responses.

“I…”

“Think about it, Ax,” Rhys insisted. “Say I gave you what you needed. The Raiders lure Jack in, and kill him, or whatever. What do you think happens next?”

Axton eased back in thought, coming up blank. Rhys exhaled his frustration.

“You’re the hero, sure. For a while. But then Pandora goes back to whatever it does best — which usually involves death races and psychotic midgets, by the way. The Raiders disband, or more likely, they find a new target to obsess over. And what do you suppose Hyperion will do?”

He remained silent, dejected, slumped against the wall. It was clear that Rhys didn’t need an answer, anyway.

“Hyperion  _ replaces  _ Jack. Potentially with someone worse. Or it creates a power vacuum, and all of the other companies descend upon Pandora to tear it apart. Maliwan and Vladof and the lot of them — all of them would come running now that Jack has revealed the true potential of this shitty little planet.”

Eridium. Vaults. And what else lurked just beneath the surface?

“I understand your issues with Jack, Axton. I know better than anyone what he’s done,” Rhys hummed. “And I know he can change.  _ Has  _ changed. When you arrived on Pandora, you likely heard the stories — New Haven, the Friendship Gulag, countless attacks on civilians. Probably the reason you signed on to help, right?”

“That’s about right,” Axton shrugged. “So what?”

Rhys leaned forward, quirking an eyebrow.

“Had there been anything he’d done  _ recently?  _ Were any of his crimes something you had witnessed  _ personally?” _

Axton sank back, scanning his mind. It had been so easy to ignore  _ why  _ the Crimson Raiders were so willing to accept him, that they’d been losing members due to disinterest in the cause. Jack had disappeared from Pandora, and with him, the passion to bring him down.

“No,” Axton answered firmly. “But that does not absolve him of what he’s done.”

“Of course not,” Rhys snorted. “But how do we repent for our sins but by doing our best to make good by what we’ve done?”

There was something peculiar about Rhys talking about  _ sins,  _ but Axton couldn't place it.

“If it’s true that he’s changed,” Axton grimaced. “Then  _ why?  _ What would have happened for him to turn his back on his campaign?”

When Rhys did not respond, Axton gazed his way, only to earn a flat, pitying look in return.

“You know what, Ax,” he muttered.

He knew, but he didn’t want to acknowledge it. To dredge up that dark, hateful realization hidden in the depths of his memory, when Rhys had laughed in Lilith’s face and uttered those very revealing words.

_ That’s simple. He met me. _

Handsome Jack was many things — intimidating, charming, monstrous, cunning, powerful. He was an enigma, carried by his suffocating self confidence and  _ who knows what else _ that helped him achieve greatness beyond what Axton had ever known and  _ definitely envied.  _ And if all it took for him to change course, to turn on his ambitions, was Rhys, well…

What the hell did that say about Rhys?

The discovery of Rhys’ role as the Head of Propaganda had struck Axton as a negative. That anyone with such a position could only be manipulative — well versed in the art of sabotage and control. And he  _ was,  _ Axton knew that well enough, but he had to admit that there was more to it. The capability of understanding human behaviour to the point of being able to direct it toward something  _ good  _ was something even  _ he _ had tried in the past.

Hell, he’d even used it on Roland.

And if Rhys had  _ actually _ convinced Jack to step back, to stop terrorizing Pandora…then he had been far more effective than Roland and Lilith combined.

“I can’t give you excuses for Jack,” Rhys exhaled, leaning back in the bunk. “I could point to the past, to his dead wife, to events on Elpis, to the betrayal by Lilith and Moxxi, but at the end of the day, it’s true — he’s done some terrible things, and there will always be someone who wants revenge.”

Axton stared mournfully at the cybernetic man. “So why do  _ you  _ need to suffer for it?”

Rhys winced. “Because I—”

“Love him. Yeah, I get it. But what about you?”

A pause. Confusion flashed beyond Rhys’ eyes. “What do you mean?”

“I mean when are you more important than Handsome Jack?” Axton grumbled. “When are you going to give up on that asshole and realize that they’re going to fucking  _ kill  _ you for your one-sided allegiance, Rhys?”

“I…” Rhys’ fingers fumbled at the sheets on the bed. “Jack…we—”

Axton rocked forward onto his haunches, crawling across the floor to kneel just shy of Rhys’ feet. The cybernetic man wavered, frowning in uncertainty, but did not draw away, and did not even flinch when Axton reached for his hand. Axton raised his fingers to his mouth, gently pressing his lips against them as he stared into Rhys’ uncertain eyes.

“I need you to tell them something, Rhys,” Axton blurted. “Please. Give them something to work with. I’m  _ begging _ you.”

Rhys shivered. His mouth opened. Then closed. Axton tightened his grip.

“There’s got to be something you can say,” he pleaded. “Or…is there anyone else…?”

Rhys brow rose. “What?”

“Someone to take your place,” Axton breathed. “Someone that can still hurt Jack, but isn’t…  _ you.” _

The other eyebrow joined its twin on Rhys’ forehead. He straightened, desperately tracing the lines of Axton’s face.

“You…” he faltered. “Why would you do that?”

“Because it’s not right, Rhys,” Axton admitted, all the while having difficulty meeting his gaze. “I made a mistake, bringing you down here. I thought I was being…”

“A hero.”

He couldn’t help but grimace. Axton couldn’t deny he was vainglorious, self aggrandizing, and generally  _ thirsty  _ for success and all that came with it. His pursuits had always gotten him into trouble, blinded him to his surroundings in his unrelenting quest. He’d only made it this far by sheer luck, and decent reflexes. And although it consumed his entire being, he had a code, in which he was not infallible but he did his best to stick to the standards he set upon himself.

Get paid, but do good things. Chase your glory, but for the benefit of the innocent. Defend. Protect.

And in all of these, with Rhys, he had failed.

“I can’t betray them,” Axton murmured. “But I also can’t let you risk your neck for a man who doesn’t seem to give a shit about you.”

Rhys nodded ever slightly, the barest gesture that Axton wasn’t even certain he saw. The cybernetic man drifted into heavy thought, absentmindedly slipping his hand free from Axton’s to scratch an itch at his phantom limb. When the fingers fell through empty air, they flinched, then gently gripped the socket, thumbing at the metal band. A consideration, it seemed, of what he’d lost. Of what he could afford to lose. Of what he was willing to sacrifice for Jack.

“…well, shit.” Rhys closed his eyes. “I really did underestimate you.”

Axton wavered. “Sorry?”

“The hero act,” Rhys explained, releasing his shoulder to wave his hand through the air. “I thought you were  _ playing  _ at being the good guy — like Roland and Lilith do. Make yourself look noble, upstanding. As if you were somehow the better option.”

Conflicting irritation passed through him; he stifled it to let Rhys continue.

“But you really do believe it, don’t you?” Rhys’ eyes crinkled. “Your rules are real, aren’t they?”

Axton sank back onto his haunches, nose crinkling. “I’ve made mistakes. But it wasn’t out of ill intent.”

Rhys again nodded, more firmly now. “Apparently so…”

“I, well…” Axton’s jaw clenched. “A friend pointed out that a recent, uh,  _ loss  _ of mine has skewed my perspective. And I’m sorry that I directed that burden onto you…”

The diamond felt heavy against his chest. Axton lowered his knees against the floor in a slump, suddenly feeling  _ exhausted.  _ When he’d awoken that morning, he hadn’t expected the day to be nearly so emotionally taxing. Especially for what little payoff—

Rhys’ arm slipped around his shoulders; he pushed off the edge of the bunk and pressed against Axton’s chest. The sudden embrace had Axton stiffening in surprise, hands wide and lingering in disbelief alongside Rhys’ flanks, and for a minute he could only sit there, stunned. But as Rhys burrowed his face against his neck, and the shivers in his arm passed into Axton, he softened, and his stomach was once more set alight. He folded his hands around Rhys, tugging him desperately close.

Neither of them had showered in days; stale sweat and dirt clung to them both. The room was still disgustingly hot, thick with body heat, hardly ideal for the gesture. And he was still filled to the brim with regrets, unease, and quiet alarms in the back of his skull. But in that moment, being in Rhys’ arms was all he wanted. Despite everything they had gone through because of the other’s actions, there was still a flicker of  _ hope _ at the potential of  _ Rhys. _

Axton tipped his head, gliding the tip of his nose across Rhys’ tattoo. As he held him, carding fingers affectionately through his hair, the shivers in his shoulders increased, turning to a sharp lurching that he immediately recognized. He tugged Rhys closer.

“Okay,” Rhys hummed against his shoulder. “Yeah…you win. I’ll give you what you need.”

The muscles in Axton’s back tensed. He said nothing, fingers clutching at Rhys’ shirt. “…because there  _ is  _ someone else.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I mean, look what happened after Jack _did_ die. Bandits all ACROSS the galaxy.


	13. Good Intentions

There was a solid  _ thunk  _ accompanied by bizarre suction as Rhys’ arm slipped back into its cradle. Several mechanical joints clicked into place, locked, and Rhys lifted the prosthetic into the air in a test of movement range. He straightened it, bent his elbow, rotated, flexed his fingers. After a few moments of these repetitive actions, he nodded his appeasement, then casually let it fall to his side as though the room full of vault hunters hadn’t been scrutinizing his every move.

Axton stood nearby as he watched, but had minded his distance, maintaining a cautious detachment once he’d led Rhys into the room. He had immediately felt suspicious glances his way, but did nothing more to alleviate their concerns — there was little to be done about them at this point anyway. They’d all made up their minds, and he was either too pissed or too tired to give a shit either way. At least Rhys had followed his lead, remaining aloof following their close interaction a few minutes prior.

Axton yet felt some trepidation, expecting at any moment for Rhys to lapse back into his stubborn self, but he forced himself to remain in place. And as Roland took a step forward into a semicircle of dim light from an overhead lamp, Axton involuntarily drew in a breath.

“So,” Roland hummed. “You’re ready to work with us?”

Rhys mutely looked the commander over, tilting his head in silent analysis.

“…I have conditions.”

Lilith snorted. “You’re not in a place to barter, Strongfork.”

He sent a rather scathing glance her way, but it was short lived; it seemed that Rhys intended to deal with Roland, and Roland alone.

“I’ll admit I’m in a precarious spot. But don’t expect me to fall apart in the face of whatever weak threats you can throw my way,” he continued, unabated. “Axton has convinced me that it’s in my best interest to cooperate. And I will. To a point.”

Axton ignored the quick look Roland spared him.

“Understandable,” he nodded. “I will have to hear your conditions before I agree to anything.”

Rhys lifted his arm once more, rolling each finger separately.

“In exchange for my freedom, I can give you access to the source that gave Jack everything he has.”

Axton drew his lower lip beneath his teeth, flush with some dread he couldn’t place. He chanced a sideways glance toward the others, noticing they, too, flickered between states of disbelief and surprise.

“I’m going to need you to elaborate,” Roland frowned.

“You really think Jack got to where he is on his own? I don’t mean to do him a disservice; Jack is capable in  _ many _ ways…”

Rhys turned his head with a small smirk; Axton rolled his eyes.

“But to accomplish all that he has, he had a little bit of help.”

“Makes sense.” Lilith folded her arms. “So? Make with the details, kid.”

“Early on in our relationship, Jack informed me that he had control over a very powerful AI,” Rhys hummed. “She supposedly had abilities beyond what any modern day AI was capable. And eventually, I got to see it for myself. She can manipulate any tech with which she comes into contact — meaning all of Helios, the Hyperion network, the Dahl ECHO network, and beyond. She can reach far and wide across the galaxies to achieve anything Jack asks.”

Well, shit. Not only was the prospect absolutely terrifying, it made horrific sense. The kind of  _ power  _ that came with that amount of control would have given Jack the advantage at every turn. Where did it begin, and end? Could he access anywhere he wanted? Listen in on any conversation? Manipulate any interface?

No — there  _ had  _ to be limits to the AI’s power. After all, Sanctuary had withstood his attacks in the past. Axton had infiltrated Helios without issue. And—

Cold, vicious clarity seeped through Axton’s veins. Was this how their hideouts had been compromised? Had the AI locked onto their data, sent Nisha and Timothy straight to them?

If that were true, it meant that there  _ hadn’t  _ been a traitor. The Crimson Raiders had been manipulated, yet again, into tearing themselves apart from the inside, when the possible source of their near demise had been in Jack’s means all along.

Axton turned to Roland, quickly confirming that the stoic leader also seemed to have arrived at this conclusion. He drew straight, staring at the wall behind Rhys in some silent contemplation. Mordecai and Gaige were similarly displaced, but Lilith’s patience outpaced any awe she might have experienced at the revelation.

“There’s no such AI,” she snarled. “Let’s cut the bullshit right now. You’re just trying to save your own ass.”

Rhys shrugged. “I assure you that she exists. The three of you should know. You’ve all seen her.”

_ “Seen _ her?” Roland maintained his cool demeanour, but his unease was visible in the way he shifted between his feet.

“Yeah.” Rhys tapped his temple. “Admittedly, only inside your heads…as your  _ guardian angel.” _

What the fuck did  _ that _ mean? Axton’s own frustration at last caught up with him; he exhaled sharply upon reaching his breaking point with Rhys’ nonsense, turning to exchange looks with his sniper friend nearby. But Mordecai was not looking back. In fact, he had even gone a little pale. Roland and Lilith, too, had fallen into a state of shock.

“You mean…”

Rhys arched his back in a casual stretch, like he hadn’t just somehow levelled the room with his admission.

“Yes —  _ that  _ angel,” he went on. “Long before you even met Jack on Elpis, he was pulling the strings behind the scenes. In fact, you could even say you owe your little group of bandits to them. After all, you never would have come together if not for the events of the first vault…”

Roland’s hands tightened into fists.

“This isn’t possible.”

“No?” Rhys quirked an eyebrow. “Well, it  _ is  _ a lot to take in. I can respect that. But you’re focusing on the wrong thing here.”

“And pray tell what the  _ right  _ thing is…” Lilith growled. Her tattoos had begun to glow, a seemingly subconscious response.

“You can dwell on the events of the past,” Rhys explained. “…or you can accept my deal, and take control of the  _ future.” _

“And why are you suddenly so willing to play ball?” Lilith spat. “If you love Jack so much, why betray him?”

Rhys lowered his head. Considered.

“…losing Angel wouldn’t stop Jack,” he breathed. “It would hurt. Something fierce. Loyalty is one of his most treasured values... But I’m not giving you Jack — I’m simply offering to take you to the source of his power. And if it’s between this, and my life…well, I’ll happily choose my life.”

So there it was. Rhys was willing to trade the AI for himself. Axton was tempted to remain skeptical, to doubt Rhys’ intentions, but really, it made sense. It was likely Jack didn’t need the AI anymore, not now that he’d achieved such a level of power. The question remained if it was useful to the  _ Raiders. _

Roland stared inscrutably at Rhys, lost in his own heavy thoughts. He was interested, that much was clear, but they had already suffered losses in this fight. If they still wanted to defeat Jack, their next moves were crucial. And to risk it all on the word of Jack’s fiancé was a massive gamble. Axton understood Roland was less impetuous than he was, as he would have accepted the challenge in an instant, but this was where the two stood apart.

“Roland…you aren’t actually  _ considering  _ this, are you?”

Lilith stepped forward, slipping a hand over his shoulder. Roland gazed her way, expression softening, but said nothing.

“Why not?” Mordecai barked. “You remember everything she did. Are you gonna pretend like that’s not something we could use?”

“It could be a trap,” Lilith hissed. “Like being led into a fucking vault with a massive  _ monster.” _

“And it could be the only way to end this stupid war,” Mordecai stated bluntly. “How many more men do we gotta bury for you to do something about it?”

Roland turned; Lilith’s hand slipped away.

“Gaige. Could you interface with this AI? Convince it to work for us?”

The red headed vault hunter sitting on the workbench that had been silent up until this point flinched at the question. She raised a finger to her lips, gnawing lightly at her knuckle in contemplation.

“I mean…maybe? I’d have to see it first. If it’s as advanced as he says, it could take a lot to—”

“You don’t have to worry about that,” Rhys interrupted. “She would help you.”

Axton frowned, scanning the pensive look that came over Rhys’ face.

“Why?” he asked softly. “After all she’s done for Jack?”

Rhys carefully met his gaze, brows pinched.

“Jack never exactly treated her well,” he sighed. “She’s loyal, but broken. For years, he was the only one she interacted with, and I could tell she was almost at her limit.”

“I have to admit,” Roland announced. “This is tempting. Very tempting. But is the AI even obtainable from down here?”

Stealing a slow, laboured inhale, Rhys deflated ever slightly. He chewed on his lip, and Axton realized that he had at last reached a point of no return. Everything he’d just provided was a betrayal to Jack — the man he claimed to love more than anything else, but to offer any sort of plan of attack would be where things ended. It was the moment he’d have to decide if he valued his life more than what he’d had with Jack.

“…yeah,” he murmured. “…because the containment facility is actually down here, on Pandora.”

Axton’s head sank back against the wall; his eyes fluttered shut as the vise-grip on his heart released. Heat worked its way up the back of his neck, into his skull, as a world of weight lifted from his shoulders. Finally,  _ fucking finally,  _ things were falling into place. The Raiders would have their victory. Axton could still make a difference. And Rhys…

“Okay.”

Roland set his hands to his hips, nodding his agreement. “If you can get us to the AI, your life is yours.”

“Fine,” Rhys straightened. “But as I said — I have conditions.”

Lilith gestured in frustration. “Your life being spared is the condition.”

“No,” Rhys snapped. “That’s your end of the  _ deal.  _ The conditions are in regards to how this goes down.”

Lilith paced forward, but Roland intercepted her, eyebrows furrowed.

“Go on, Rhys. I’m listening.”

“Angel is kept below a highly protected bunker,” Rhys started. “There’s only one way in, and it’s guarded by every kind of loader bot you can name, along with surveyors, soldiers, a forcefield, and a door requiring both bio data and a voice sampling.”

“Jack’s?” Axton winced.

“Yes,” Rhys replied. “…or mine.”

Shit.

“So you need to be present,” Roland concluded.

“Correct. And given the level of security, there’s no way of rolling in there with an army of your own without alerting Jack. So — my condition is…” Rhys angled his head to catch Axton in his gaze. “You send me, and Axton here, alone.”

_ “…what?” _ Axton blanched.

“No fucking way.”

A flicker of flame erupted along Lilith’s arm. She snarled in outrage, moving toward Rhys with fresh intent.

“We’re not playing your game. We not falling for your—”

Before Axton could blink, Roland had snagged Lilith by the arm and shoved her into the nearest wall. Gaige yelped in shock; Mordecai quickly got to his feet. Only Axton and Rhys did not move, watching in surprise as Roland pinned Lilith to the wall and mutually glared back at the seething Siren.

“Enough, Lilith,” he spat. “That’s  _ enough.” _

Lilith’s heated demeanour faded markedly. She winced, tracing the hard lines of Roland’s face in pained disbelief.

“Roland…”

“No,” he grunted. “I’m done talking about this.  _ I  _ make the decisions here, and you will respect my authority, or you will walk away.”

Axton looked to Mordecai; the sniper shook his head in alarm.  _ Stay out of it. _

“Roland, this is a _ trap. _ Don’t you see that?”

“You know what I see?” Roland asked sharply. “I see the end of the war. I see the last of our men dying. I see us never having to walk the line of good and evil ever again. This is our  _ chance,  _ Lilith. And there are risks — I’m not ignorant to them. But what choice do we have? Between the opportunity to take down Jack, and drawing this out for years to come…I choose the former.”

He released her arm; her wrist was flushed red where he had held her.

“Now you’re either with me, or you’re not.”

Lilith blinked rapidly, sinking against the wall. She gazed about the room — to Mordecai, Gaige, and at last, Axton — but no one said a word. Even Rhys kept his mouth shut, head averted.

“…Roland…”

He said nothing, didn’t even move. Lilith withered under his stare, dropping her gaze to the floor.

“…I see,” she muttered. “…if this is your choice, then it's your mistake to make.”

She slipped past Roland, pausing in the door long enough to cast a bitter glance over her shoulder.

“I’ll be in Sanctuary. Someone should be there when this goes to hell.”

And with that, she was gone. The temperature in the room dipped in her absence, and Axton almost shivered with discomfort. Because  _ holy fuck. _ He’d seen hints of discontent, of a quietly simmering disagreement between Roland and Lilith. And to her credit, Axton did not actually consider Lilith to be in the wrong. It wasn’t simply a lover’s quarrel, after all — it was a war, one that had placed them at odds. He could almost feel her pain, knowing all too well what it was like.

He winced, gazing down, and found his hand yet again clutching his ring.

“…Rhys.”

Roland slowly set his attention back on Rhys, expression tight with suppressed anger.

“Axton is compromised by whatever exists between you,” he accused. “I will not send you two alone.”

Rhys opened his mouth, ready to argue, but was quickly cut off.

“Roland.” Mordecai had stepped forward, tugging his gear into place. “I’ll go, too.”

Axton’s stomach turned over, and he wasn’t certain whether it was from excitement or dread. It was very likely both, as the prospect of escorting Rhys into the belly of the beast was worrisome and thrilling in equal measure. It had been so long since he had been in the field, that the little taste he’d had while fighting off Timothy had sparked something slumbering in the back of his mind. But at the end of the day, he was still walking Handsome Jack’s fiancé into Hyperion territory. And it was likely only thanks to Mordecai that it was possible, as Axton realized upon watching the two vault hunters consult one another in a muted exchange of glances.

“That is acceptable,” Roland hummed. He turned to Rhys, jaw set. “Okay, you’ve got your deal. Now what do we need to do?”

Rhys’ brow furrowed in thought.

“…do you still have that Hyperion armour?”

* * *

  
  
Axton’s eyes skimmed over the ramshackle bandit huts; his fingers pressed into the dirt under his knee, thrumming with energy that slipped up his forearms and into his shoulders. Nighttime had at last arrived, cloaking the Thousand Cuts area in twilight darkness. The bandit encampment was absolutely aglow in moonlight that almost glittered off the metal roofs, but besides the odd torch flickering away, the place remained strangely quiet, if not almost peaceful.

He proceeded in silence to the first shack, using the tip of his knife to draw open the material hung in the doorway. Inside, it was dark, but the shape of a bandit soon came into view, a man sunk into a makeshift bed, snoring softly. His buzzsaw axe hung loosely in his grip, resting aside the bunk.

Axton moved slowly, careful to avoid the creaking boards under his feet, and drew toward the side of the bed. His hand slipped under the psycho’s mask in a smooth motion, followed close behind by the knife. With a punctuated jerk of his arm, the psycho violently twitched under his touch; a fresh blood spatter decorated the wall beside them. Axton slid the knife along the ratty bedspread, wiping the blade clean, and proceeded to the next room.

What followed was a methodical attack carried out shack by shack. By some source of luck, many of the rooms were actually empty, and most of the occupied ones only contained slumbering bandits. His knife made quick — and most importantly —  _ quiet  _ work of psychos and marauders alike. When at last he made it to the final shack, he paused at the entrance when a stuttering, electronic voice caught his attention.

Just inside, a badass marauder rested in a reclined seat, staring absently toward a flickering television. Old Hyperion videos filtered across the screen, with flashes of Handsome Jack’s face appearing occasionally through blips of static. Axton snarled, rolled his eyes, and crept across the floor, blade extended.

The marauder put up more of a fight; as Axton’s arm looped around his throat, the man immediately struggled to get to his feet. Axton clamped his hand over his mask, a desperate effort to silence him, and centred the blade over the man’s navel. He hooked the blade up, aiming under his ribs, and wrenched his arm back.

The resulting loss of balance brought the man, and the chair, backwards over Axton. They tumbled; Axton heaved at the resulting air being knocked from his lungs. But now on his back, he had the leverage to bring the knife up, and again embed it into the man’s abdomen, slashing through with the serrated edge in a repetitive motion. He didn’t stop until his arm was slick with blood, and the man collapsed on his chest stopped moving.

For a moment he laid there, staring blindly into the ceiling, panting rapidly. He pushed the body aside, let his knife rest on the floor, caught his breath, calmed his mind. His eyes drifted shut, and he surrendered to the heady, intoxicating rush of adrenaline and endorphins that he had missed  _ so fucking much.  _

Here, in the heat of combat, Axton knew himself. He lost himself in the simplicity of fight or flight, live or die. When actions and reactions came down to instinct, skill, luck. Here, there was no manipulation, no mind games — there was only your weapon, and your opponent.

The sickening  _ click  _ of a shotgun brought the reality of his reverie roaring to life. His eyes snapped open to the looming shape of yet another bandit standing over him, grinning down with a misaligned smirk. He brought a foot forward, caught the knife with his heel, kicked it somewhere behind him.

“Fucking stooge,” the man hissed, cackling sharply. “You’ll be  _ screaming _ when I’m done…”

At this range, his shield would hold, but only for one blast. Could he get on his feet before the man pumped the gun and unloaded a second shot?

The muscles in his calves and arms tensed. He carefully edged onto his elbows.

“Easy now,” Axton hummed. “Let’s not do anything rash.”

“Shut the fuck up, Hyperion,” the bandit spat, pressing the barrel to his forehead. “You belong to me, now.”

From this distance, there wasn’t much the shield could prevent. Axton’s arms surged up, knocking the gun to the side. A blast unloaded into the side of the shack; the bandit stuttered in surprise, long enough for Axton to pivot onto his knees. But he wasn’t fast enough, as the shotgun turned, again aimed his way.

And then — nothing.

The bandit jerked, swayed, stumbled. Axton was forced back, falling onto his ass as the marauder hit the ground, shotgun clattering to the side. With a stolen breath, Axton honed in on the knife sticking out of the back of the man’s neck.

“…he was going to kill you.”

Rhys stood at the man’s feet, a very visible shiver running through his limbs. He staggered back, pressing his shoulders to the wall of the hut. When his gaze found Axton’s, it was full of disbelief and fear.

“I  _ had  _ to.”

_ Well, holy shit.  _ Axton maneuvered onto his feet, crossed the room. His arms enveloped Rhys, tugging him close enough to feel a tremble in his lean frame.

“You did good, Rhys,” Axton murmured. “Real good. But I need you to take a breath.”

Rhys nodded into his shoulder. Quivered. Axton slowly drew away from him, palming his cheek.

“We need to move, okay? We need to catch up with Mordecai.”

Again, Rhys offered a weak jerk of the head. Axton was careful to draw away, then quickly retrieved the knife from the bandit’s spine, and summoned a pistol from his hip. He’d meant to maintain a quiet op —  _ no guns _ — but it was too late for that. Luckily, this was the last building on his side of the camp to clear, so all he could hope for was that Mordecai had been as efficient as he had.

His progress had been surprising, given the prisoner he had in tow. Rhys had mumbled complaints before they set out, wondering aloud why he wasn’t even allowed a stun baton to protect himself.

“No,” had been Mordecai’s abrupt reply, but now Axton was thankful that Rhys had at least been there to snatch up the fallen knife at the most critical moment.

It was…surprising, to say the least. Rhys could have backed out of the shack, crept away under the cover of darkness. He could have had his freedom. Instead, he buried the knife in the bandit’s neck, effectively saving Axton’s life.

His heart fluttered quietly in acknowledgement, but he said nothing otherwise. Instead, he turned to gesture for Rhys to follow, but upon stepping toward the door through which they had arrived, he was immediately snagged backward.

“Rhys, we—”

He was cut off by a desperate fumbling of lips. Rhys gripped his armour, pulled him in. He again pressed his back to the wall, allowing his hands to slip around Axton’s shoulders in a bid to keep him close. Axton briefly surrendered, inhaling sharply through his nostrils in disbelief and delight, almost moaning as Rhys’ tongue swiped along his. But this wasn’t the time, nor the place, and as he forcibly separated himself from Rhys, the blood from his gear now staining Rhys’ button up.

Conflict yet again reared its ugly head, gripping his core. Adrenaline and excitement and lust and urgency swirled through his skull; his hands twitched with intent. But they couldn’t stay here.

“We have to go, Rhys.”

Rhys’ expression shifted; his lips remained parted, wet.

“Ax, please—” he muttered, gaze lowering. “Just don’t leave me, okay?”

A cold, uncertain feeling trickled between Axton’s shoulder blades. It was fruitless to look for answers in Rhys’ face — his intentions were always beneath the surface. But every so often, he felt like he was seeing the  _ real  _ Rhys. And it almost seemed like he  _ actually cared _ .

“I’ve got you. I promise.”

For a moment — a brief,  _ precious _ moment, Rhys’ fingers slipped between his, tugging into place. Then they fell away, and Axton moved for the exit.

When they at last emerged back into the camp, arriving at the foot of the hill, Mordecai had reappeared. The sniper was similarly covered in blood, which trickled down his leather armour in streaks beneath Bloodwing’s razor-sharp claws where they dug into his shoulder. Axton almost smirked as he sheathed his blade, holstered his pistol.

“Well, that was…”

“Weird, huh?” Mordecai hummed, glancing back into camp. “It was quiet.”

“Is that a concern?”

“Maybe,” Mordecai shrugged. “This group is pretty constantly at war with Hyperion. Could be they suffered losses lately.”

It made sense. Thousand Cuts was a narrow cliffside section of land in the West of the Highlands. While it may once have been beautiful, a jagged swath of greenery stretching through the hills, all that remained now was a barren wasteland that had fallen victim to intense firefights between the massive bandit stronghold on one end and the highly protected Hyperion base built into the cliff walls at the other.

The middle, a no man’s land, was nothing but blackened earth and shelled ground. The bones of psychos and mechanical limbs of loader bots littered the craters like grave markers, and the place was entirely devoid of wildlife. It was a dangerous spot on which to tread, though Axton was equally ashamed and thrilled to admit it was the closest thing to  _ normalcy  _ he’d felt in a long time.

“I gotta say though — I definitely prefer the long distance method of this job. I’ll leave the dirty work to grunts like you.”

Axton barely caught the rag tossed his way, pausing to wipe what he could from his bright yellow armour.

“So. Step two.”

The trio paused, gazing together toward the open, scarred land.

“It should be fine,” Rhys piped up. “They don’t launch reinforcements immediately — everyone that wanders out there will be scanned. As long as we look the part, we should make it across unmolested.”

Axton turned to examine the blood on Rhys’ button up.

“Not sure  _ you  _ look the part anymore.”

Rhys tugged on his shirt, almost smirking.

“You’d be surprised.”

“Let’s just get this over with,” Mordecai grunted.

Bloodwing alit from Mordecai’s shoulder, quickly disappearing high into the night sky. Mordecai passed his machete over his digistruct device, replacing it with a pair of handcuffs that he treated with disdain. Axton took them from him to slip over his wrists. They weren’t locked, but would hopefully be convincing enough. All they had to do was bluff their way through.

“Okay, scum,” he grinned, retrieving a Hyperion shotgun from his inventory. “Get your ass moving.”

Mordecai’s lip curled. “Watch it, bro.”

They set out with no minor amount of trepidation, but the further they wandered across the blackened earth, the more they lowered their defences. It appeared Rhys had been correct — as long as you didn’t  _ look  _ like a bandit, no loader bots would come raining down on your head.

Before long, they arrived at the Hyperion front. The gates at the foot of the hill were tall, a looming apparatus from which a laser-like wall blocked their path. Axton scanned the intimidating, red force field, passing his eyes over the logo at the centre, before glancing to the signage overhead. The “Competitor Deterrence Field,” as it was named in true Hyperion fashion, boasted a lethal warning — “All organic matter will be disintegrated.”

Underneath, someone had scrawled “that means ppl” for good measure, a more concise message to the bandit population nearby. But to Axton, it meant something entirely different.

_ Abandon All Hope, Ye Who Enter Here. _

“Okay…” he breathed. “Guess you’re up, Rhys.”

“Care to do the honours?”

Rhys’ warmth appeared at his side; he turned to examine the arm that Rhys had raised for his inspection. Gaige had attached the makeshift dampener to his prosthetic, securely locking it into place in some hasty effort to prevent Rhys from signalling for help, contacting Jack, or doing something else to royally screw them over. Axton traced the shape of the device with his eyes before raising his head, holding Rhys’ gaze.

“…I’m trusting you, Rhys,” he swallowed hard. “Please don’t make me regret this.”

_ Please don’t make me kill you. _ Rhys frowned. He glanced down to the shotgun in Axton’s hands.

“I promise, Ax,” he whispered. “I’ll get you in there safely.”

Axton paused. Took a breath. Raised his ECHO device and waved it over the dampener. Rhys straightened in response; an almost audible rush of power flowed through his prosthetic, and he immediately turned to the console on the gate nearby. When the blue of his ECHO-Eye made its appearance, Axton turned a wary glance skyward. But Helios merely continued to lurk high above, a distant threat, and the forcefield before them flickered out.

“Piece of cake,” Rhys smirked. “Now we just have to climb.”

Following his gaze, Axton almost groaned. A long, winding, “S” shaped highway led the way up the mountainside. It was paved, well maintained, and bordered on each side by various buildings and outposts at which any manner of Hyperion security would be awaiting them.

“So…” Axton exhaled. “Game plan.”

“The supply depot for the core control is at the top of the first hill,” Rhys gestured to the mountainside overhead. “If we set off any alarms, this place is armed to the teeth. I’m talking every loader you can name — BUL, EXP, Jet, LWT, Gun…even the War loaders. Hell, there’s a couple potential Constructors on the way, so blend in.”

He gave Axton and Mordecai a stern look:  _ don’t fuck this up.  _ Axton snorted in response, again raising his ECHO device. Rhys’ arm sagged, and he shot Axton a look of betrayal.

“With you doing the talking, I’m sure we’ll do just fine.”

Rhys straightened. He scanned Axton momentarily from beyond some imperceptible stare, then turned his back and started his way up the hill. Axton made to follow, but Mordecai’s hand grasped onto his elbow.

“Hey, man,” Mordecai murmured. “You sure about this? I mean…Lilith could be right.”

Axton’s eyebrows drifted up. “You’re asking this  _ now?”  _

“Shit’s  _ real _ now,” he shrugged. “But hey, if you’re good, then I’m good, you get me?”

He wavered, glancing back toward Rhys as the cybernetic man slowly moved on ahead. Truth be told, he wasn’t sure. He never would be, when it came to Rhys. But he had to  _ try.  _ What else was there to do?

“We’ve come this far.”

Mordecai offered a solemn nod, lowering his cuffed arms. Axton offered him a smile of reassurance, one that he hoped looked more genuine than it felt, before shoving his gun into Mordecai’s shoulder.

“Get moving, bandit.”

“Hey,” Mordecai grunted, albeit with a subtle chuckle. “Don’t push your luck.”

Rhys had paused up ahead, long enough for the lagging vault hunters to catch up. The highway was relatively quiet yet, but the odd surveyor drone hovered past, zipping through the air on some unknown task. At the first bend in the road, a couple of Hyperion troopers lingered outside the door to an unmarked facility. Axton straightened, lifted his helmet onto his head, lapsed back into some semblance of a  _ soldier,  _ and mentally crossed his fingers. Each curve in the road represented a test, where the thin thread of trust between Axton and Rhys would momentarily draw taut, and Rhys alone would decide if that thread would snap. And Axton would be holding his breath the entire way.

“Sir,” one of the men called, seeming to recognize Rhys, or at least identifying his presence on the hillside to represent authority. He turned his head toward Mordecai, raising his SMG. “Is there a problem?”

“Do I look troubled, soldier?” Rhys huffed, as though his time was being wasted.

“Well… You  _ are  _ covered in blood.”

Axton’s finger slipped onto the trigger.

“What’s your point?” Rhys snapped; the soldiers exchanged looks. “Mind your goddamn business and get back to work.”

His reply had the desired effect; the troopers hastily abandoned whatever had been occupying them and made their way back inside. Mordecai gave a soft hum in surprise, relaxing slightly from where his hands had lingered close by to his digistruct pack. Axton, too, allowed some of the tension to slip from the muscles in his shoulders, but only just. Until they reached the bunker, he would remain on high alert, eyes locked squarely on Rhys’ back.

But as they continued up the mountainside, at last arriving at the supply depot, Axton was relieved when nothing else stood in their way. The occasional loader bot had wandered past, but hadn’t even turned its glowing red eye in their direction, as though it would be an offence to even consider Rhys a threat. 

“The loading dock is just ahead,” Rhys called out, panting as though short of breath. “We’re almost there.”

Axton followed his gesture, lifting his gaze to the cliffside climbing high into the sky overhead. The view was almost serene — a beautiful facility built atop a towering pillar of stone, complete with ivy clinging to every surface, and a waterfall tumbling over the back that glittered in the moonlight. It reminded Axton less of a highly secured Hyperion facility, and more of something Jack would consider a vacation home, tucked far away from prying eyes and bandits’ reach.

At the foot of the pillar was an elevator. Rhys hailed the car, and Axton again stole a moment to centre himself. They were so close, he could taste it. But there was an incessant alarm quietly going off in the back of his head. Rhys had gotten them this far. He had kept up his end of the deal. And yet Axton could not deny the nudge of anxiety in his mind.

The elevator trip was short. When the doors again opened, they emerged onto a platform high up on the edge of the cliffside. Axton made a point of ignoring the ledge nearby, following Rhys up a dirt path that gave way to octagonal tile steps. Not far up the stairs was a set of doors leading into the cliff face. The stairs kept going, leading to a larger, flat platform overhead, but Rhys came to a stop at the doors. He lifted his arm, and Axton raised his ECHO device to once again disable the dampener.

“This is it,” he gestured to the doors. “We just need to get inside.”

The first doors slid open to reveal what looked like an airlock. A series of cameras pointed toward a pad marked with “Hyperion” before the second, reinforced set of doors.

“Okay,” Rhys swallowed. “Here goes nothing.”

He stepped into the centre of the pad, waving his cybernetics over a nearby interface. A robotic, female voice crackled over the intercom.

_ “Preparing bio-scan. Please stand on the Hyperion emblem.” _

Rhys was immediately awash in blue light; he stiffened under the scrutiny.

_ “Scanning bio-signature.” _

Axton bit at his lip; Mordecai shifted uneasily.

_ “Bio-signature confirmed. Hello, kitten. Awaiting password.” _

Rhys wavered before stepping forward. He closed his eyes, briefly resting his forehead on the panel.

“…I love you.”

Axton winced at the softly spoken words.

_ “Access granted.” _

Relief flooded through his shoulders. The lights went out; the door emitted a soft whirring noise. But suddenly, everything went silent.

Rhys frowned, palming the interface. “The hell?”

“What’s wrong?” Mordecai barked.

“I don’t know. Something’s…”

_ “Please disengage door locks at secondary console.” _

“Where is the secondary console?” Axton asked, gazing about the immediate vicinity and finding nothing.

Rhys paled. He turned, staring momentarily at Axton before his eyes drifted upward. Axton lifted his head to scan the platform above.

“In front of the bunker.”

“I thought this  _ was _ the bunker?” Mordecai grumbled, nodding toward the closed doors.

“No. That’s upstairs.” Rhys swallowed against the lump in his throat. “Someone has to go up and take care of it.”

“It doesn’t need your bio data?” Axton frowned.

“No,” Rhys shook his head. “It should just be a lever.”

Axton and Mordecai exchanged looks. Up until now, there were an acceptable level of risks. Rhys had anticipated and warned them of everything to expect. But this — this was new, and Axton didn’t like it.

“Fuck, fine,” Mordecai snapped. He advanced across to the stairs, hefting his sniper.

“I can go,” Axton called out, but Mordecai shook his head without looking back.

“Stay with Rhys,” he grunted. “Shit. If this is a trap, and I kick it, I am  _ totally  _ haunting your asses.”

“Stay on your ECHO,” Axton frowned, tapping at his earpiece.

In the distance, Bloodwing’s shape darted past, barely a blur in the sky.

“I don’t like this.”

“I’m sorry,” Rhys winced. “This hasn’t happened before.”

“What’s up there?”

“Supply Dock,” he hummed. “Mostly just landing platforms. Nice little water feature near the back. But otherwise—”

Mordecai’s voice cut through via ECHO.  _ “I see the console.” _

“No signs of life?” Axton asked. “Or machines?”

_ “I see the bunker he was talking about,”  _ Mordecai replied. _ “Weird that it’s on top. It’s… what the heck?” _

A great tremor passed through the cliffside; Axton almost stumbled in an attempt to stay on his feet. Only Rhys’ hand on his shoulder kept him in place, tugging him back into the safety of the airlock.

“Rhys…” he growled. “What the hell was that?”

“I—”

_ “Shit!” _

Axton gazed toward the platform above, but aside from a dust cloud propelled outward by massive gusts of wind, he couldn’t see anything.

“What’s happening up there?”

_ “It’s airborne!” _ Mordecai shouted.  _ “It’s fucking airborne!” _

Axton flinched, eyes wide.  _ “What’s _ airborne?”

“The bunker!” Rhys leaned against the panel, scrawling his finger across the interface. “Shit. I can’t disable it.”

“How is the fucking  _ bunker  _ airborne?”

“It’s not a, uh,  _ traditional _ bunker.”

_ “Shit.” _ Mordecai’s voice flickered over the ECHO.  _ “I’m pinned, Ax. No way I can take this thing on my own.” _

Thunderous turret fire rippled across the ground over their heads. Axton hefted his gun.

“Hold tight, Mordecai. I’m—”

Rhys latched onto Axton’s collar with his cybernetic hand, hauling him backward. Axton sent a vicious look of disbelief at him, snarling.

“Rhys, let go!”

“That bunker is one of the most highly advanced weapons Jack has,” Rhys stated bluntly, brow furrowed. “It will  _ kill  _ you, Axton. And if it’s activated, Jack might know we’re here. We can’t wait.”

“Mordecai is up there,” he snapped back. “What do you suggest we do?”

“I can disable it,” Rhys insisted, grabbing onto Axton’s jacket with his other hand.“But not from out here. I have to get inside.”

Axton opened his mouth to respond, but froze upon noticing the doors behind him had opened. Something dark and furious twisted through his chest. But as a distant explosion rocked the ground, he almost collapsed into Rhys.

“We have to go, Axton,” Rhys barked into his ear, holding him tight. Axton closed his eyes.

“I can’t leave him out here.”

“You can’t  _ help  _ him out here,” Rhys countered. “If you get me inside the core, we can shut it down.”

He wavered. Looked over his shoulder. The alarm bells continued to ring in his head. But at the memory of the knife in the bandit’s neck, of Rhys pulling him close, he surrendered with a wince.

“Okay, Rhys,” he murmured. “Let’s get inside.”

* * *

It was dark. Dim track lighting on each side of the wide corridors were all that lit the way, and it was just enough to lead them deeper into the cliffside base. Axton kept his head on a swivel, his hands on his gun, but it was quiet. Not even the tremors or sounds of the attack from outside reached his ears.

Not even Mordecai’s calls.

At the bottom of a slope was yet another set of doors. These were larger, greatly reinforced, and Rhys had to manipulate another panel for access.

“Why didn’t you mention the bunker before?”

“I did.”

Axton’s lip tugged in a snarl. “You didn’t get specific.”

Rhys shrugged half-heartedly. “You didn’t ask.”

_ Fuck.  _ Not this. Not now.

“Rhys…”

“I can access everything from the chair.”

Axton frowned his confusion, but as the doors before them began to slide open, his eyes found the object in question.

At the centre of a massive, darkened room, a peculiar chair was built into a raised platform. A series of strange pipes hung from the ceiling overhead, intersecting at the centre above the dais, along with multiple screens and a series of deactivated turrets. Axton considered them all with unease, quietly following Rhys into the room.

“This is the place?” he asked quietly. It was all so empty — barren. Was this where they kept the AI?

Rhys did not reply. He climbed onto the platform, approaching the chair without haste. And when he arrived, he did not sit down, did not access his cybernetics, did  _ nothing  _ to stop the chaos that was undoubtedly still raging outside.

“Okay, Ax.”

Axton went deathly still at the shift in Rhys’ tone. Rhys casually dusted a hand across the back of the seat in the middle of the room, leaning forward to rest on his elbows. A catlike grin curled across his features.

“We’re gonna have a nice talk about what it means to be a  _ hero.” _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry.


	14. The Saviour of Pandora

“Have a seat, Ax.”

“Rhys, we need to stop the bunker.”

“No, we don’t. We—”

“Mordecai is still outside. You said you could disable everything from here!”

“Oh, I can,” Rhys nodded. “But I won’t.”

Axton fell silent, still, in startlingly cool resignation. The moment he had always feared had at last arrived; Rhys had never intended to help them, and somewhere, deep inside, he always knew it. He watched in horrified silence as Rhys awkwardly reached up to grip the dampener attached to his mechanical arm, wrenching it free in a swift movement to crush with ease in his metal fingers. It was discarded to the floor, and Axton wondered in misery if he had _always_ been capable of removing it, even while it was activated.

Awash with nausea and fury, Axton turned on his heel, intent on the exit. If what Rhys said about the weapon was true — _one of the most highly advanced weapons Jack has_ — the odds of surviving a head-on fight with the bunker were hardly in his favour, but if there was a chance he could get Mordecai to safety, to hunker down and await reinforcements, he had to _try._ After all, it was his fault Mordecai was there at all.

But just before he could move into the hallway, the heavy dual doors slammed shut across the threshold. Axton reeled back, a lance of pain shooting up through his calf, and when he looked over his shoulder in question and rage, Rhys only shook his head in response, like an exhausted parent dealing with a petulant child.

“Come on now, Ax,” he called, patting the seat. “It’s just you and me. Let’s talk.”

Axton paused. Took a breath. Cast a gaze about the massive, domelike room for another exit and found none. His eyes lingered on the deactivated turrets far above before returning to Rhys, who was examining his cybernetic arm as though he was bored. His arm, which could command those turrets to turn him into paste in an instant. Or — what was it that Jack had said?

_A fine, red mist._

“…what is this place?” Axton asked, voice tight with ire or fear, he wasn’t sure which.

“This,” Rhys looked around the room with a frown. “Was once home to a powerful Siren.”

“I thought you said—”

“I know what I said,” Rhys answered in a soft voice, blinking demurely. “Jack used the AI nomenclature in an effort to keep her safe.”

“Safe.” Axton paused. Rhys turned, and his eyes narrowed ever slightly.

“Yes. It was Jack’s daughter, Angel.”

 _What?_ Again, that eerie, unsettling sensation that Axton was now so familiar with slipped down his spine. His lips curled.

“And where is she?”

“Gone,” Rhys rested his chin on his knuckles. “On Athenas, being mentored by one of her own.”

“What?” Axton seethed. “So there’s _no one_ here?”

“Just us,” Rhys shrugged. “I needed to bring us somewhere secure, and there’s nowhere else on Pandora that comes close.”

 _Us._ Against all odds, Axton’s heart palpated. He turned once more to analyze the doors, desperation gripping his core.

“But everything I said about Angel was true,” Rhys continued idly. “She’s wonderful. Her Siren abilities gave her an amazing control of tech. She orchestrated the events of the first vault, helped Jack to—”

“Stop.”

Faltering, Rhys quirked an eyebrow in confusion. “Why?”

“Please,” Axton winced. “Don’t tell me this.”

“Ax—”

“If you’re sharing this with me…” Axton interrupted, gazing warily toward the cybernetic man; Rhys watched him carefully, looking almost perplexed. “It means you have no intention of letting me leave here, alive.”

Understanding slipped through Rhys’ expression, followed by fatigue, concern.

“I _told_ you, Ax.” he sighed. “I promised to get you here safely. Why would I want to kill you now?”

“You manipulated me this _entire time,”_ Axton growled, voice raising to a shout. “Why would you want to keep me _safe?”_

“Ax…” The look that Rhys gave Axton was withering. “That’s a little hypocritical, don’t you think?”

Maybe. He’d done the exact same thing — kept him close, kept him naive, _used_ him. Rhys had simply returned the favour. And much more masterfully done.

“I still don’t understand. You’ve gained your freedom.” Axton lowered his gun. It felt useless in his hands, anyway. “Why am I still here?”

“Because I realized that I was wrong about you. You genuinely want to be the hero. The good guy.” Rhys frowned. “If only it were that simple.”

“What the hell does that mean?”

“What does a hero do, Ax?”

He paused in thought. “Fights injustice. Stands against evil.”

And once again, a condescending, catlike smirk crossed Rhys’ face. Like Axton had answered exactly how he had hoped.

“Axton…” he hummed. “There’s no such _thing_ as evil.”

Closing his eyes, with a slow intake of breath, Axton quietly surrendered to the story Rhys seemed desperate to tell. There was little else he could do — with the doors shut tight, he was a captive audience. Although, it was difficult to focus, with his mind on the chaos raging outside the cliffside base.

“Okay, Rhys,” he murmured, resigned to his fate. “I’ll bite.”

Rhys tilted his head.

“Evil is nothing more than a concept meant to make us feel better about normal human nature. But in reality, there’s no such thing as good versus evil,” he explained. “There’s intention, and action. You can do any number of terrible things, and everyone will be happy — as long as the ends justify the means.”

“Are you trying to defend what Jack has done?” Axton’s tone slipped with a hiss. “That everything he’s doing is okay because he’s trying to, what, make Pandora a better place?”

“I’m saying that your bullshit band of heroes is a facade,” Rhys snapped. “That they’ve done just as much damage to this planet as Jack, maybe more.”

“Fuck that. Jack’s a monster. He needs to be held responsible.”

“Oh?” Rhys smirked. “And what does he owe you, personally?”

Axton wavered. “I…what?”

“How has he wronged you?”

“It’s not about me,” Axton grunted, having no other answers to give. Well, besides maybe being forced to witness Jack bending Rhys over the counter. “It’s about—”

“We’ve had this conversation already,” Rhys groaned in annoyance. “He does have to make up for his share of mistakes. Everything that has happened with his daughter, for example. But he doesn’t owe that to _you,_ or anyone but her. And she’s already forgiven him, to a point. We’re slowly repairing the damage there.”

“What about everything else he’s done?”

“Everything he’s done was in an effort to improve Pandora. He’s crossed a few lines, but he’s working to make up for the results of his actions. And, again — what does he owe _you?”_ Rhys frowned. “We are all capable of overcoming our past. Of change. It’s not your place to be the judge, jury, and executioner, when you had nothing to do with it in the first goddamn place.”

Suddenly, Axton recalled the exchange between Rhys and Mordecai back at the Crimson Raiders’ HQ. His peculiar acceptance of Mordecai’s words — “s’what we do now that counts, yeah? Self improvement n’ shit.”

With the rush of a cool sensation coursing through his veins, he remembered the marked shift in Rhys’ expression before he uttered “I couldn’t agree more.”

“This was your plan all along,” Axton muttered. “Your plan with Jack.”

Rhys shrugged. “Partly. I made a lot of it up as I went.”

“So if there’s no AI here, no Siren — how’d Jack’s team find us?”

Rhys innocently smiled. He let his eyes slip up and down Axton’s frame, in a manner that had Axton almost flush with warmth.

“You’re a typical soldier, Axton,” he breathed. “You’re dedicated. Devoted. You go hard for _hours,_ giving your all for as long as you can. And when you finally have a moment to rest, you fall fast, and you fall hard. I’ve never seen someone sleep so soundly.

“It wasn’t very difficult to slip out of your arms and steal your fast travel pass. My main concern was actually the matter of getting somewhere I could fire off your coordinate set list and back again before that scraggly friend of yours returned from Sanctuary.”

Axton shuddered with realization. He palmed his face, staring unseeing through his fingers. So Jack _did_ have the coordinates and permissions. Even the ones for _Sanctuary._ And afterward, Rhys had willingly returned to the Frozen Wastes, to his captivity. To what end?

Information. To set them up.

_Maximum damage._

“I knew it,” he groaned. “I just didn’t want to believe.”

“Oh, I know you preferred the alternative,” Rhys rolled his eyes. “That I _enjoyed_ having you violently fuck me in the face.”

Axton winced, doing his best to ignore the pain of his words.

“So you gave the codes to Jack...”

“Not just,” Rhys tapped at his temple. “I’ve recorded _everything._ Stealth mode — conceals the glow, keeps the functionality. I couldn’t do anything with it while my network access was restricted, but you opened that right back up, didn’t you?”

Yeah. He did.

“You disabled the fast travel station.”

“Yes.”

“You made sure Thousand Cuts was easier to traverse.”

“Of course.”

“The exchange with Jack — rehearsed?”

“Somewhat. You actually called me on that right away, so…kudos.”

The finger guns aimed his way had Axton wincing.

“…did you even know the raider from Hollow Point?”

A chuckle. “No. Not at all.”

It all made horrific sense. The Crimson Raiders were already in shambles before Rhys arrived on the scene. Untrusting — close to the tipping point. It only took a few suggestions, some minor manipulations to tear them apart from the inside. Even Axton had grown wary of their leadership, to the point it was likely easier for Rhys to retain his hold on him.

And in the manner of only a few days, Rhys had achieved what Jack never could.

“So,” Axton muttered. “How does this prove that there _isn’t_ such a thing as evil?”

He tried to ignore Rhys’ taunting grin. He stared at the floor instead.

“You belong to the Crimson Raiders. Team _good guys,_ right?”

Axton didn’t reply. Rhys didn’t require it of him.

“And Jack is your nemesis,” he went on. “Your big bad. Your concept of _evil._ It’s understandable. And once upon a time, I might have been sympathetic to your cause. But there’s one problem with your system."

Rhys levelled a look at him that sent shivers down Axton’s spine.

“As I said — your heroic rebel leaders are just as responsible for everything that has happened.”

“Bullshit,” Axton spat. “That’s _bullshit,_ and you know it.”

“Okay. You want to compare notes? Let’s compare notes.”

Rhys made his way around the chair, dropping into place with a huff. He pressed a button on the arm, and a holographic screen immediately appeared to hang in the air before his face. He set to manipulating it, scrolling through details out of Axton’s view.

“Let’s start with Roland. He originally served under the Crimson Lance to, what? Oh — that’s right — _civilize Pandora._ Which he seemed more than happy to do until he was betrayed by his own men. But to be fair, he’s got a pretty clean record. If you disregard the blatant murdering of the local populace. But only the _psychos,_ right?”

Axton blanched. “They’re _psychos_. There’s no saving them.”

“Is that right?” Rhys raised his brows. “Rather presumptuous of you, but okay.”

What did that mean? Axton shook his head, shook off the words.

“Lilith. Created a cult following amongst a bandit group under the banner of _Firehawk_ that was willing to sacrifice members to appease her. By, you know, burning them alive. And when she realized the cover it provided was no longer necessary, she abandoned them to their cause, _and_ their deaths.

“Some time before that, she assisted Jack and his team on Elpis long enough to achieve their own goals, then betrayed them, almost killing everyone.”

He pointedly gazed toward Axton. “Which, by the way, included Timothy and Nisha.”

“Rhys—”

“Then she attacked Jack, destroying an Eridian artifact, and permanently disfigured him — an act that sparked this stupid goddamn war in the first place.”

 _What?_ Could it be true? Roland and Lilith had always been hesitant to share details of Elpis. The story was obviously tainted with Rhys’ bias, but it all sounded…plausible. There were always two sides, after all.

“And _you.”_

Axton stiffened, lifting his head in surprise.

“In the short time since we’ve met, you shot a fellow Raider, kidnapped me, and got Nisha killed. Oh, and let’s not forget the bandits you murdered on the way here. With a goddamn serrated knife, no less.”

Axton froze. He eyed the remnant blood between the creases of his armour. “I—”

“But that _pales_ in comparison to your past.”

Rhys spun the screen. And there was Axton’s Dahl military record, complete with an image displaying the rank marking attached to his brow, and the word “wanted” splashed over it in bright red with all capital letters. Axton scanned the screen in disbelief, feeling his chest tighten.

 _“War crimes,_ Ax? Oh, how very _heroic_ of you.”

“How—” Axton stuttered. The floor beneath his feet swept away. “How long have you _known?”_

“Not long,” Rhys admitted casually. “I got curious after I saw your dog tag, so I asked Jack to have one of his men do some digging. Crazy about the firing squad, by the way. Crazier about your _wife,_ Sarah. My condolences.”

Hearing her name on Rhys’ tongue was enough to shatter the illusion of any control he’d had left. Axton staggered. Suddenly, his knee was pressed to the floor. His gun was laid out next to his palms.

Even now, he couldn’t decipher the lies in Rhys’ explanations. It all seemed so compelling, so _convincing,_ but what if he had known longer? Hyperion had standards — what if they had discovered his identity back when they hired him on?

What if Rhys had known _the very day they met?_

“But like I said. At the end of it all…there was something convincing about you,” Rhys batted the screen away; it winked out at his touch. “You protected me. Cared about me. I couldn’t just leave you behind. Because loyalty — _true_ loyalty — it’s so hard to come by these days.”

Axton squeezed his eyes shut, resentful of the way Rhys’ words struck his heart. Because it was always his _heart_ that had determined his loyalty, much to his own chagrin. He had never been devoted to the Raiders. Not really. He saw potential in their cause, a chance for glory. And that was it. Hell, if it had been a _Hyperion_ message he’d heard when he had first arrived on Pandora, and not Roland’s, things likely would have ended a lot differently.

“And after all… You _are_ a hero, Axton,” Rhys cooed. “Because I couldn’t have done _any_ of this without you.”

Copper filled his mouth as he bit through his lip.

“Stop. _Please.”_

“All the Raiders had ever attempted to do was to stop Jack,” Rhys continued. “Whereas we have been trying to _save_ Pandora. And that doesn’t mean completely senseless killing. We’re _methodical,_ not deranged. Many civilians have been chosen and reassigned new lives, given comfy positions within Opportunity and even aboard Helios.

“Despite what Jack thinks, there _are_ some decent people on this planet. I met a few during our cleanup of Hollow Point that didn’t seem terribly pathetic. But not many.”

Axton’s blood ran ice cold. _Hollow Point went quiet._

“Your _cleanup?”_ Axton lifted his head. “Rhys, please don’t tell me that means—”

“Ax, you’re really cute when you’re being naive,” Rhys hummed, an eyebrow raised. “But cut the shit. No one is _this_ dumb.”

He hung his head in reply. Rhys pushed onto his feet. He patted gently at the chair, as he had done before.

“C’mon, Ax,” he beckoned. “Come sit.”

Axton raised his head enough to consider the gun nearby. His fingers braced against the ground with quiet intention, but Rhys quickly noticed. He sighed dramatically, leaning onto the arm of the chair.

“It’s no use, Ax. Trust me.” 

Meeting his gaze, Axton watched as Rhys swiped a finger along his cybernetic arm. A static hum briefly crackled in his ear, and a glow of light flickered over Rhys’ frame. So Roland had been correct to assume there were more tricks stashed away in his prosthetic, including a shield that Gaige had failed to discover while picking it apart. It would likely outlast any attack Axton would mustre before the turrets overhead turned his way.

“Sit, Axton.”

It took a few moments to find his mind, and his strength. Then slowly, begrudgingly, he pushed his bulk off of his knee, pausing momentarily upon straightening. Rhys offered him a smile in encouragement, yet again nodding to the seat, and Axton uttered a ragged sigh before moving forward. He sank into place, feeling a hand slip across his shoulders in mocking comfort as Rhys leaned down to activate the interface once more.

Multiple holoscreens appeared this time, lighting up his vision. He was immediately inundated with views of a city on fire, smoke and ash rising into the dark sky. His chest tightened upon recognizing Sanctuary, and the incredibly large half loader bot half man amidst it all. Wilhelm, flanked by numerous soldiers and bots, pressed toward the Crimson Raiders HQ, unleashing a hellish barrage of firepower into the small building.

“Rhys, please,” Axton winced away from the sight. He’d done this. He’d provided the means. _All my fault._ “I—”

 _“Look,_ Ax.”

Against his better judgement, he opened his eyes. He followed Rhys’ gesture to the other screens, to civilians rounded up, held at gunpoint. For a moment he held his breath, expecting the blood of multiple executions to strike the walls of the city, but nothing happened. A few individuals were arrested, held, but others… they were being led to shuttles, to officers patting them down for weaponry before leading them onboard.

“I would’ve preferred a safer evacuation before the assault began,” Rhys sighed. “But that was never an option. At least we managed to spare _some_ innocent people.”

“You…” Axton frowned. “Where are you taking them?”

“Processing facility near Opportunity,” Rhys answered, staring into the screens. “Plenty of them will initially reject our help, but eventually they’ll see a better life than what the squalid streets of Sanctuary could offer.”

“...reassigned new lives,” he echoed.

Rhys nodded. “Yes.”

“You’re a _monster,”_ Axton snarled. “You’re worse than Jack.”

Rhys’ eyebrows contorted. He waved the screens away, rounding the chair to set a tight look upon Axton.

 _“Excuse_ me?” he spat. “You should be _thanking_ me.”

Axton almost laughed. “For _what?”_

“For saving this shithole of a planet,” Rhys snapped back. “I’m the only one that stopped Lilith and Jack from burning Pandora to cinders.”

“Shit, you’re just as deluded as your fiancé.”

“Why the hell do you think the tremors stopped, Ax?” Rhys growled. “Why do you think Sanctuary was left to its own devices? Why did Jack _disappear,_ prompting your involvement from the start?”

Axton stared hard at Rhys, finding no words. He swallowed hard, urging the bile creeping up his throat to stay down.

“I convinced Jack there was a better way,” Rhys concluded. “That we didn’t need to destroy Pandora to save it. That the Warrior was not the answer.”

He didn’t know what the Warrior was. And at this point, he didn’t care. His head was a mess of remorse and confusion and realization, an overwhelming amount of information that — _really —_ he should have seen from the beginning. It was all there, just waiting for him to notice. But instead, he had been obsessed with his glory. With the hero act.

With Rhys.

“...I did this.”

“Oh, Ax…”

Axton straightened in surprise, going stiff as Rhys moved into his space. Rhys’ knees slipped alongside his thighs; he gently settled in his lap, drawing fingers along the nape of his neck as he gazed into his eyes. A vicious impulse to throw him off, to reject him, crossed through Axton’s mind. But it was drowned beneath the exhaustive, heavy wash of failure.

_All my fault._

“Surely, you can agree this was the better way,” Rhys murmured. “Fewer people will die. The planet will be at peace. Pandora will enter a new age, and _you_ will have played a part in that. Doesn’t that reassure you at least a little bit?”

_All my fault._

“I’m so thankful for you. I waited a long time for someone like you to come along.”

_All. My. Fault._

Axton at last collapsed; he sank forward, dropping his face into Rhys’ shoulder. Arms around his neck tugged tightly, bringing warmth and safety and a place to simply _rest._ He closed his eyes and surrendered to Rhys’ touch, to what he’d always wanted, and now…

Now that he had it, all he wanted was to wake up from his nightmare.

“Rhysie.”

Jack’s sudden voice was cold, but lacked any vicious bite. Axton lifted his head, blinking past dazed tears to see the Hyperion president approaching them almost _casually,_ hands stuffed into his pockets as though nothing was amiss. Briefly, very briefly, Axton glanced toward the gun on the ground not far away. But even then, it felt utterly pointless, adding to the already crushing weight of his loss.

“Jack,” Rhys purred. He climbed off of Axton, quickly slipping into Jack’s arms. “The hell took you so long?”

“Just making sure our friends went down with their piece of shit town,” Jack replied softly, pressing a kiss against Rhys’ chin. “And I knew you had it handled here."

“Presumptuous,” Rhys snorted. “But correct.”

“Nice work, kitten. You have no idea how worried I was. The whole goddamn time. But you had it under control all along, didn’t you?”

“It was easy with Ax, here. He was loyal right from the start.”

_I was._

“Shit. You didn’t let him fuck you, did you?”

“No. Well — _okay,_ I blew him once. But it didn’t last long — he came like a fucking teenager.”

Axton pitched with the newest rush of nausea, pressing a hand to his mouth, eyes squeezed shut. His body rocked with the terrible realization, the cold, demanding truth: it was all his fault. Mordecai, Gaige, countless others would die, maybe _had_ died. And for what?

“Well, he _is_ in his twenties.”

 _“I’m_ in my twenties, Jack.”

“Point being?”

Jack rocked back with the impact of Rhys’ punch to his shoulder, snickering.

“Prick.”

“Oh, kitten. I missed you. C’mere.”

A pause. Axton kept his head down, already too repulsed to handle witnessing the pair reuniting.

“Jeez, Rhysie, you stink.”

“I was in _Oasis,_ Jack. I need a shower like you wouldn’t believe. Also, fuck you.”

“Language, kitten.”

“So — Roland?”

“Dead,” Jack grunted.

“And our friend the Firehawk?”

“She put up a hell of a fight against Wil’s upgrades, but we have her. The collar worked like a charm.”

“Hm. Guess it all worked _perfectly_ then.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Jack groaned. “Some bullcrap about flies and honey, right?”

Axton lurched.

“Exactly. Don’t need to burn this planet to the ground to save it.”

“I guess. Would have been _cool,_ though.”

Suddenly, he felt the floor against his palms. Bile and vomit splashed across the ground between his hands. Jack moved back a step in disgust, lips curled, but Rhys simply _tutted_ his disappointment, walking forward to slide a comforting hand through Axton’s hair.

“There, there,” he murmured softly. “Take deep breaths. You’re okay."

Even past the waves of nausea, Axton managed a snarl. _“Fuck. You.”_

“Aw, c’mon now, Ax,” Rhys kneeled before him, fingers gliding along his chin. “I thought we were past this. You played me, I played you, everyone had a good time but the game needs to end now.”

“You’re sick,” Axton seethed.

“Maybe,” Rhys shrugged. “Or maybe you, too, will come to see things as I do. Given time.”

“Alright, kitten. You’ve had your fun,” Jack chided softly. “Care to do the honours?”

A pause. Then footsteps. Rhys’ hand appeared against Axton’s back, reassuring and warm. He stroked gently along his spine before coming to a rest on the nape of his neck.

“It’s okay,” Rhys whispered, catching Axton’s hair and playing with it between his fingers. “I promise. It’s all gonna be okay.”

Something slipped around his throat. The heavy, cold press of metal looped around his neck and clicked into place; an intensely pleasurable warmth _thrummed_ across his skin. He almost moaned against the sensation, eyes fluttering open in question. Then fingers again touched his chin, redirecting his gaze from the soft glow of purple light against his chest to Rhys’ friendly, smiling face.

“Rhys,” he purred, flush with raw, intoxicating dopamine. His hands reached out, caught Rhys’, slipped their fingers together. He felt _fucking amazing._ “What is…”

“Shh, Alex,” Rhys cooed, and Axton leaned into his touch. “It’s time to go home.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Everyone thinks they're the hero of their own story._
> 
> Well, that's it. I hope you enjoyed the read.
> 
> I set out to subvert expectations of a typical Rhack fic from the start, and I think Axton had the perfect perspective to use for that. It was also a fun challenge to do a dark Rhys -- one that had spent more time with Jack and had picked up some of his beliefs/mannerisms. 
> 
> The concept of the Crimson Raiders not necessarily being the good guys was always interesting to me, so I'm glad I got to explore that more. And it wasn't particularly difficult, with the canon set up already in place. The chapter title here also remains open ended -- is Rhys the "saviour," for his interference in the original BL2 timeline? Or is it Axton, who was the only reason this plan was possible?
> 
> Anyway-- I accept that this wasn't what people expect from a Rhack story, and I knew it would get less attention that way. So thank you to those who stuck around for the story -- it means a lot that you made it this far. Please let me know what you thought, and if you'd be interested in a follow up later on.
> 
> If you haven't already, you can read my other completed piece, "The Space Between Us," over [here](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23720140/chapters/56958832).  
> I'm also slowly working through a BL3 Rhys/Tim/Jack triangle fic over [here](https://archiveofourown.org/works/24273370/chapters/58502329).
> 
> The next piece I have lined up is a Soul Mate fic, featuring Rhys, Timothy, Jack, and all your Hyperion favourites. I also have an unofficial follow-up to "The Space Between Us" that might start going up sooner than that.
> 
> If you'd like to chat or follow me for silly Rhack sketches, I'm on [Twitter](https://twitter.com/ssrhack) and [Instagram](https://www.instagram.com/ssrhack/) (For 18+ ages ONLY). Otherwise, thanks again for reading!


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